


Under Qarth's Sheltering Sky

by clarasimone



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Courtly Love, Cunnilingus, Declarations Of Love, Desire, Erotic Dreams, Erotica, F/M, Fellatio, Knight, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Passion, Passionate Sex, Poetic oneirism, Post-Coital Cuddling, Qarth., Some Humor, Sorcerers, True Love, priapism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/pseuds/clarasimone
Summary: UNDER QARTH'S SHELTERING SKY is not so much a multi-chapter story as a collection inside a collection. It began as a one-off inside JORAH AND DAENERYS' GARDEN OF EROTIC DELIGHTS and, coaxed by some of you, and my own imagination, I saw a way to devise other stand-alone tales set in Qarth.Each new chapter can be read independently yet they do form a mosaic of sorts, with new chapters either throwing us forward in Jorah and Daenerys' AU timeline, or back. There is narrative unfolding but, as I am mainly interested in the dynamics of desire, the chapters capture moments in time in which Jorah and Dany come together in the throes of passion. The tone can be light or angsty, but Love is at the center of it all, celebrated in, what I aim to be, poetic explicitness. In a word, Erotica.I hope you enjoy.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 113
Kudos: 117
Collections: Jorah and Daenerys' Garden of Erotic Delights





	1. What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> Summary to chapter 1:
> 
> It starts in pitch darkness, there is nothing to see but everything to feel and what I feel is the possession, the ram, the claim, in the very core of me, like there is no divide between my searing hot insides and my solar plexus, my heart!
> 
> I am the maidenhead of the ship taking us to Westeros. I am made of painted wood, and the ocean is breaking on my naked bosom. I am the maidenhead which Jorah is embracing as he lifts my body from the royal bed he carved himself to grace the center of our cabin. He is the ship holding me forth, from behind, as he pulls me upright, my back to his muscled torso and stomach, his arms crushing me to him. "Jorah!"
> 
> ..... And so it is that while in Qarth, under the spell of Pyatt Pree, Daenerys gets lost in the meshes of dreams that could be the end of her, unless she and Jorah find each other.
> 
> Notes to chapter 1:
> 
> I should explain that the story comes from a dream and a nightmare I had in July 2019. Erotic visitations which I've gifted Daenerys in my tale. Originally, I wanted to post just that, two oneiric narratives without any plot surrounding them, like a form of poetry... but the narrative bug seeped its way in there and it became an actual story, involving Jorah’s guilt and unspoken love. So here goes nothing! The first chapter is more experimental than usual, and though there is more plot than usual too, the eroticism shall prove to be, I hope, unrelenting and cathartic.
> 
> My warmest thanks to @terisrog for the new "book cover" (a Penguin pastiche made with love, using Maxfield Parish) and the ever faithful @chryssadirewolf for the two amazing moodboards which open and close the offering. And, as usual, kisses blown to @houseofthebear, purveyor of wings.

_“Are you ready for me, Ser Jorah?”_

_“You know I am, Khaleesi,” I answered her, breathing hard._

Lately, she would appear in the night, standing in my doorway, soft light from faraway torches illuminating her diaphanous form. She was a ghostly presence floating towards me, her hands playing the harp on the moonlight beams falling on the sheerness of her robe, to train my eyes to her bosom, but also to her soft belly and the mystery below, until the veils would fall. From a simple regal gesture. I’d hear them pool breathily on the stone floor of my bedchamber before seeing her violet eyes float over my upturned face. Daenerys’ lithe body would barely make a dent on my bed when she’d climb on it.

“Show me, Ser.”

And I would. I’d push away the sheets covering my naked limbs and relish the sigh she’d gift me upon seeing my priapic state, before doing with me what she wished. Making my heart race. Making me curse under my breath the names of the Gods, old and new, and searing my body with repeated bolts of pleasure, until only her blessed name was left on my lips. Anything for her. Letting her torment me. Letting her ride me. Gloriously, wantonly, upon my thrusts and hungry pulls. Until my moans would become hers too. And she would plead for release.

“I need you. Now! Your Khaleesi needs you, Ser Jorah…”

***

_“Your Khaleesi needs you, Ser Jorah…Wake up!”_

And Jorah did. Wake up with a start. Gods, he had _that dream_ again.

But now someone was rousing him roughly, a small hand desperately groping his shoulder, tugging on his nightshirt. Irri! Daenerys’ faithful handmaiden was frantic, and it took Jorah a few seconds to fully drag himself out of his lingering dream state. But when he did, he scrambled out of bed and into his breeches, barely registering Irri averting her eyes, after seeing too much of him, regardless of his nightshirt. He told her to lead the way and his steps became a race down the corridors as he followed the young handmaiden, his sword on his side.

They were quick but silent, not wanting to alert the palazzo’s household where they were staying in Qarth. Jorah did not trust their host, Xaro Xhoan Daxos. The powerful merchant had granted them a residence befitting Daenerys’ standing, but it felt like a gilded cage, with eyes all around surveying them: those of the Thirteen, Pyat Pree the sorcerer and Quaithe, the Red priestess, schemers all. So, by the Gods, if some harm should befall his Khaleesi, no one would be left standing when he’d be done with them.

_Myself included_; Jorah told himself.

Yes, Jorah tallied his name amongst the culprits because he’d been failing Daenerys of late, letting his guard down. It started a few days ago. Like a drug dulling his senses, slowly, deliciously, because he was seeing his Khaleesi’s beauty and gaiety blossom in this hedonistic city.

Every day, since they arrived, she had greeted him adorned in a new dress; light, colourful, revealing, her face luminous, her smile even more so, and her demeanour carefree. She let him walk her to the gardens and they sat by the fountain while he regaled her with stories of his _faits d’armes_, and his prowess in tournaments as a young man. He was so voluble, he hardly recognized himself. But it seemed to please her so, Jorah found himself incapable of holding back. They could be in King’s Landing, he realized: she, the Queen, and he, her Knight in a shining new armour come to make sweet love to her, with poems and flowers. But it was better yet, because in this cloister there were no other knights pinning for her favours. He was the only one in this tale of courtly love. And she let him pick roses for her, his calloused hands not fearing the thorns, and he let her tie a new scarf of devotion around his neck.

“The first one was getting all mangy, Ser. This one is also blue, like your eyes,” she explained. “But I made sure it be the same _shade_ of blue, this time,” she whispered, captivating him with her own violet glance.

He had been unable to utter a single word, only finding the strength to nod when she added: “Is this how the Ladies in high court do it, Ser Jorah? Grant favours to their favourite knight?” Her eyes had trailed down to his lips and he had almost done it then, crossed that line they had been flirting with all week. Or, if truth be told, the line they had been flirting with since the very beginning.

And where were her handmaidens, pray tell? Why were they alone in this garden? Why did she have to be enraptured with his tales, widening her eyes, parting her soft lips? Jorah had been finding himself in a constant state of groggy arousal, fighting the urge to kiss her, and declare his secret love. But was it still secret? What were they playing at? And what of these nightly visitations which left his body spent, or still aching with desire upon waking and which would make him blush when Daenerys would greet him in the morn’?

All of this, all of it, it was _absolutely_ maddening. And he loved it. By the Gods, he did, and so he was guilty. Guilty of surrendering to this illusion. Because it had to be an illusion. From the first, Daenerys’ destiny had been written in fire and blood. All of this was a trap, it had to be, yet he didn’t care, or rather, he didn’t until Irri came to fetch him, alarmed. _He didn’t care._ Because he didn’t want it to end. He still didn’t. As he moved past Irri, coming to an abrupt stop next to Daenerys’ feverish form, ensconced in her bed, part of him still prayed for the dream not to end while the other prayed that he was not too late to wake her from it.

“Jorah?”

“I’m here.” …_my love_, he almost added.

“The Khaleesi does not hear you, Ser Jorah.”

Irri had closed the door to Daenerys’ bedchamber and was now standing next to Jorah, her hands already nursing her mistress, feeling her skin for any change in her temperature.

“She does not hear but she can speak, and sense, and she has been asking for you.”

Jorah felt strangely naked under Irri’s glance, the girl clearly knowing what he never thought to betray, and yet she said nothing more. She simply looked expectantly into his eyes. Slightly ill at ease, Jorah moved his glance to Daenerys’ body twitching in her sleep, beads of sweat dotting her forehead. He wanted to lift her out of bed; he wanted to take her away but, instead, he simply squeezed the pommel of his sword and he clenched his teeth.

“How long has she been this way?”

“Since the moon has risen over the trees,” Irri answered, her eyes lifting to the night sky.

Jorah followed Irri’s glance and he saw the star shine on them through the loggia’s arched colonnades, its glow eerily orange. His mind went to Pyat Pree then, the sorcerer who barely veiled his attempts at attracting Daenerys into his temple. Could he have something to do with the strange spell affecting her? _Affecting them both_, he corrected himself. His eyes then fell on Daenerys’ baby dragons, two of them asleep in their cage while Drogon, awake, tilted its head towards him, a timid screech breaking the silence of the room. He knew his mother was in danger.

***

_It starts in pitch darkness, there is nothing to see but everything to feel and what I feel is the possession, the ram, the claim, in the very core of me, like there is no divide between my searing hot insides and my solar plexus, my heart!_

_I am the maidenhead of the ship taking us to Westeros. I am made of painted wood, and the ocean is breaking on my naked bosom. Each wave is taking possession of the lovely orbs the builders have painted alabaster, like a hand capturing my breasts, and the foam of the sea, like a tongue, is laving my budding nipples, so hard for all to see, and painted pink. I hear the sailors’ laboured breathing, as they tug, and pull, and push, and will the ship forward while the wind blows on the sails, giving me wings behind the silver mane they’ve sculpted, undulating on each side of the prow adorn with my dragons._

_I am the maidenhead which Jorah is embracing as he lifts my body from the royal bed which he carved himself to grace the center of our cabin. He is the ship holding me forth, from behind, as he pulls me upright, my back to his muscled torso and stomach, his arms crushing me to him. One of them lies across my breasts, the hand claiming the soft flesh, the fingers pinching the nipple hard, making me cry out, while his mouth kisses my neck and bites and sucks…_

_“Jorah!”_

_I throw one of my arms behind my head and his, my fingers sliding through the ginger curls at the nape of his neck and I hold on tight. He knows what I want. So, his free arm guides my thighs and legs around his before lifting me unto his manhood, over his cock as hard as the iron keel of the ship, to impale me there and claim me in mid-air._._“Gods, yes!”_

_And suddenly, joined like this, there is only you and I._

_You are holding me safely now, my love, you are holding me lovingly as I see, in the mirror facing us, your beautiful, glistening, turgescent cock impaling me. With each thrust, the ship moves up the tidal wave and comes crashing down, searing my lips, and making me froth all over your mast. It burns, and I don’t want it to end, the possession, the ram, the claim. Yes, that song again, to the very core of me, like there is no divide between your taking of my honeyed insides and my solar plexus, my heart, while your fingers unhood my pearl for sweet torture. I don’t want it to stop…_

_“Then it won’t, Khaleesi.” Your voice, a feral velvet. “I’ll make you come on me. I’ll make you come on me, until you beg me for mercy. Ugh…Gods!”_

_How you thrust on each word, my Love, yet keep your release at bay because I am insatiable. And how you growl your promises of rapture on my skin, sweet Ser…_

_***_

“… Sweet Ser…”

Daenerys was whimpering Jorah’s name and so, he stopped his ministrations. Lifting the wet cloth which he was applying to her forehead, the Knight looked at his Queen writhe, and he heard her sigh and, suddenly, the reckoning had him blush. She was as she always appeared to him, in his own feverish dreams, when ecstasy transfigured her features. Jorah couldn’t help throw a veiled look towards Irri: couldn’t she tell what was seizing her mistress? Even Drogon agitated himself in his cage. But Irri had her back to them, preparing a medicinal compress. She turned though when, suddenly, Daenerys cried out before arching her back. Irrational guilt spearing his heart, Jorah quickly slipped between Irri and the bed, shielding Daenerys from view. But the handmaiden was worried.

“The fever, Ser Jorah, it is getting worse?”

The Knight sighed, discouraged, it was so much worse than this: “The mother of dragons cannot suffer from fever, Irri. Her blood is made of fire.” The young woman started, realizing Jorah spoke the truth. So, what then, ailed their Khaleesi? Daenerys moaned behind them, and Jorah clenched his jaw.

“Irri, we still need more water,” Jorah rasped, his voice breaking a bit, “as cool as possible.”

Irri moved back, looking at him a bit quizzically, but Jorah questioned her before she questioned him.

“And shouldn’t Doreah be here, helping you care for your mistress?”

The questions flustered Irri, yet she felt compelled to answer Jorah’s query.

“Doreah is not here. She has been…sneaking away at night. To the palace, we believe. She has made a lover, surely. She always does.”

“Your mistress stands for this?” The question was not a diversion anymore. It was brought on by worry; Jorah’s senses suddenly alerting him to some mysterious yet tangible danger.

“The Khaleesi said not to stop her. The Khaleesi was…” Irri left her sentence unfinished, realizing what she was about to say and in front of whom. But Jorah’s penetrating gaze made her come out with it: “The Khaleesi was happy one of us could experience…rapture. In a man’s arms.” Irri was right not wanting to finish her sentence: she saw the discomfort colour Ser Jorah’s features. Before his expression turned to pain, she bowed her head and retreated.

“I will fetch the water. And more medicine.”

***

_Gasping. With the sensation that we have left the blinding luminosity of our lovemaking because the night is full of terrors. I am looking up into your face, into your aching eyes, while your tender hand cradles my cheek streamed with tears. I can hear you whisper: "Shhhh, shhhhh, there is only us, only us, look at me, Daenerys..." We are not sailing to Westeros. We are not on a ship. And we are not alone, though you want me to embrace that lie. I can feel Him nearby, Pyat Pree, the sorcerer multiplied, hovering in the shadows. He who will hurt us if, somehow, we don't comply._

_This is perverse, it is making a travesty of the love that has blossomed in me, for you, my Knight. And yet my body is surrendering to this sorcery, relishing feeling so impossibly ensconced in your arms, on this luxurious bed where they have thrown us together, in the depth of night, to drown in dark velvets and darker silks. There are whispers all around and noises of chains and whimpers. We are in hell. _

_“If you refuse to service the Khaleesi, Ser Jorah, another will take your place.”_

_“The Gods damn you to hell; I will skin you alive. I will…”_

_I do not let you finish, my love, turning your face to me, cradling it in my shaking hands. Neither of us wants what is about to come between us. Not like this. Not when your lips have never even tasted mine. This cannot be our first time. But you won’t let another touch me. I can see your thoughts, Jorah, I can see the wheels turning in the depth of your beautiful eyes, and I can see them derail when something else snakes through our bodies, something like primeval lust, irrepressible._

_A sorcerer’s trick feeding on unspoken truths between you and I._

_Our bodies are throbbing even as you are feverishly apologizing, and I am shaking in your arms..._ _Oh Jorah, where do you still find the strength to speak of escape plans, whispering feverishly against my ear? There is nowhere to go, my love. We are half-clothed on this bed… until we are not even that. And though you try to protect me, I can feel the layers of fabric vanishing. I can sense the soft hair of your chest suddenly brushing my naked breasts, and I can feel your stomach, the muscles there so tight, covered in a sheen of sweat, as your skin is burning mine. And all the while, your wild whispers in my ear and mine on your lips. Until I feel it, your manhood, hard against my thigh, and your words become desperate. Don’t! Don’t my Knight. Do not apologize! Look into my eyes. See how this moves me, see how you move me, and how I am aroused by your strength and desire._

_Orders are shouted, to bring another male, and your indignant voice clamours once more, cursing our captors. Sensing your body leaving my side, as you shout to them, panic grips me and I pull you back down to me. I need to see your eyes: "Don't leave me! Jorah, please: only you, I beg you, my Knight, only you." Past the fear, as I tremble in your arms, something deeper is burning in my violet eyes, I can see it reflected in the blue depth of yours, and yet…_

_"Khaleesi, I cannot."_

_Shaking, but I swear it's more from desire now than shock, I quiet you by reaching down between our bodies, my fingers brushing along your length, making you catch your breath, and plead for me to stop, until I glide over my secret folds. There, I gather the warm honey meant for you and which I come brushing over your lips, delicately. _

_"Please, my Bear..." Surely now, with the taste of me on your lips, you won’t refuse me. And I am right. How quick your body is to react, your cock surging forward, like your hips, your shaft crushing my mound, its glistening crown kissing my slippery pearl. My Bear, my sweet Bear, come to save me…_

_Maybe a whip cracks and your buttocks are branded, because you suppress a moan and you clench your jaw. You are fighting pain on all sides. That which our captors are inflicting on you and that which your desire for me is causing you. You are breathing hard now and holding me close, as much to protect me from possible blows as to fill your senses with me. Your Khaleesi is there in your arms, under you, trembling and burning. You cup my face in your tender hand, your eyes searching mine. Tears well up there again that shatter you, just before I too touch your face, as if to calm you. Looking deep into your eyes then, I nod, almost imperceptibly, rolling my hips under you, a whisper leaving my lips._

_"Only you, my Knight."_

_I open my legs and you growl, low, letting your cock, so hard now, find its way along the wet folds of my skin. _

_Gods forgive us, we shouldn't want this, but another crack of the whip, and you push up my thigh with your bent knee. Your arm snakes its way around my waist, and you lift me, to better claim me. Your mouth is crushing mine, kissing me deeply and swallowing my cry as you fill me so completely. You take me and take me again, your buttocks contracting to push your cock deeper and anchor yourself where it feels so warm and wet. To steal me away._

_And so, it is, that against all odds and impropriety, I have never felt this safe or devoured by a more formidable force. I am tiny in your strong embrace, your shaft never leaving the depths of my secret folds as it plows and plunders there, deeper still in a rolling motion, like waves brushing against my pulsating walls. The whip cracks again, scaring me for a moment but you are there, cupping my face, feverishly kissing my lips._

_"Khaleesi, look at me, there is only us! Only us. I won't let them hurt you. I..."_

***

Irri had been out but a few seconds and yet Jorah could clearly see that Daenerys’ state had worsened. His compresses were warm, they were useless to him. He threw another look at the moon, higher still in the sky and glowing more eerily than before, and something snapped in him. He lifted Daenerys to him, as he sat on the bed, cradling her by the waist, one of his hands holding her head so he could whisper close to her face.

“Khaleesi, look at me, there is only us. Only us. I won't let them hurt you. I am here, by your side. No harm will come to you, I won’t let it. But you _must_ open your eyes…”

If he could wake, every morning, from his own feverish dreams, so could she. But of course, Daenerys didn’t comply, she only moaned, deliciously. Seeing her like this, Jorah was afraid to lose himself in her beautiful wanton expression. Why was it so hard to think? Letting her head fall on his shoulder, he took her hand in his, to kiss her fingers, closing his eyes a second as if in prayer, whispering her name fervently. She whispered his, in response, and Jorah started, shifting Daenerys again in his arms, to better see her face. He brushed away loose strands of wet hair from her cheek, calling her name softly. But she didn’t answer, and so his fingers trailed down her neck, and lower still, where more strands of her beautiful mane needed his care, along her collar bone, and on the nascent swell of her breasts, her skin so white there. Like porcelain. _What was he doing? _Daenerys sighed now, as if waking, her fingers slipping through Jorah’s ginger curls to better hold on to him. Drogon let out a shriek but no one heeded his warning.

“Jorah…” Daenerys’ eyes were open, and her Knight’s breath caught in his throat. How beautiful she looked seized between suffering and ecstasy. He’d seen her like this, so many times, in his fantasies. But was she truly seeing him as she gazed through him? And did she know her free hand was brushing aside her nightgown to free her shoulder and her small breast, heaving so…

“Khaleesi, don’t.” Jorah’s face was still right next to hers; her sweet breath warming his skin, his lips. Irri was bound to come back any second now. She couldn’t see them like this. Yet, he still cupped Daenerys’ face. He still whispered tender words of care. And he tugged, delicately, on the folds of her nightgown to cover her bosom. But she stopped him, her fingers on his. And she spoke.

“Jorah, my love, must I beg?…” Her eyes may have been half-hooded and her pupils dilated, her words reverberated to the very soul of Jorah, shocking him so, he did not stop Daenerys when she made his hand slowly trail back to the silkiness of her bosom. When the tip of his fingers brushed against her erect nipple, he couldn’t tell who moaned first. But he didn’t stop his Khaleesi when her lips came claiming his mouth. He embraced her back in a way as ravenous as it was wrong. He knew this and yet he chose to lose himself in the moment.

But it wasn’t enough for Daenerys. She lifted herself to her Knight, both of her arms embracing his form to pull him back down with her, unto the bed. And he let her. She felt the weight of him now, the warmth of him, the manly scent of him, drugging her as he growled through their kiss. She moaned her acquiescence too and took one of his hands to guide it further down over her feverish skin, her breath coming quicker and her back arching once more.

_I am tiny in your strong embrace, your thrusts going deeper, your shaft never leaving the depths of my secret folds as it plows and plunders there, deeper still in a rolling motion, like waves brushing against my secret walls embracing your pulsating shaft._

Jorah was drowning in their embrace and he willingly followed Daenerys when she guided his hand between her legs, where he felt the softness of her curls. She was undulating under their hands and he understood he was about to touch heaven, but when his fingers discovered his love’s nectar, so warm and abundant, he had to break away from the kiss, to rasp Daenerys’ name, his senses in agony. No woman had ever been so aroused in his arms. His forehead resting on hers, Jorah tried to catch his breath. _What was he doing?_

“Khaleesi, please, wake up.” His words were begging her but his fingers did not leave her folds. His thumb was brushing against her juicy pearl and she swayed on his caress, rasping his name again.

_With each thrust, the ship moves up the tidal wave and comes crashing down, searing my lips, and making me froth all over your cock. It burns, and I don’t want it to end, the possession, the ram, the claim._

Daenerys cried out in his arms and suddenly Jorah felt it, her rapture, her secret lips fluttering, his fingers slipping into the beauty and the force of her release. _The Gods have mercy…_

“Jorah, please, only you, only…”

He kissed her to silence the guilt, his mouth hungrily pressing itself on hers, again and again, his fingers still feeling the bolts of pleasure seizing her until, with a growl, he pulled back again, and he saw the state Daenerys truly was in. She was consuming herself. She wouldn’t survive this night. He cradled her then, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and he finally heard Drogon shrieking in his cage. Outside, in the distance, the glow of torches was illuminating the arcades of the palace. No sounds were reaching him, the action being too far away, but something was afoot and he failed to notice.

Cursing himself, he started to pull Daenerys out of bed. They had to leave this place. _Now_. He’d waited too long. But he was halted by Irri, come rushing in.

“Ser, I could not make it to the fountains. I had to hide. I saw Doreah with Xaro Xhoan Daxos…”

“And the sorcerer.” It was not a question; Jorah was finally grasping what was unfolding.

“Yes! They are coming for the Khaleesi!”

“No,” he shook his head, “it’s the dragons they want.”

This is what the spell was all about, luring them away, making them lose themselves in each other until nothing else would matter. Jorah couldn’t help wincing then, the pain almost unbearable, because the Gods knew that, in his case, they needn’t have bothered. Nothing else mattered to him but the Khaleesi, and his dreams had _always_ been haunted by her. But could one say the same of Daenerys? Suddenly the guilt he felt at having tasted her, intimately, was exacerbated by the notion that her desire for him could be a chimera. 

“Listen to me, Irri,” Jorah rasped, snapping out of his trance and feelings of self-pity, ‘I need you to rouse the men of the khalasar.” He got to his feet to grab what he needed for his journey. “I need two of them to meet me in the stables, to help me escape with the Khaleesi, but they will rejoin you after we’ve crossed the gates.” While he spoke, Irri followed him, helping him with his cloak. “The water you fetch comes from the fountains, yes? But do you know where the cool waters come from? We need to immerse the Khaleesi’s body.”

“I do. I have heard the women talk about it. A crying rock, in the cliffs behind the City. One must follow the sacred road.”

“Good. Now, _you_ will take the opposite route, with the men, taking the dragons with you, to create a diversion. Do you understand? Can you do this?”

“If I speak for you, Ser Jorah, the men will obey. And if they don’t, I know the secret word that will awaken the wrath of the dragons,” Irri added, smiling, proud and firm. Satisfied and ready, Jorah lifted Daenerys, bridal-carrying her to the back staircase of the loggia, where he stopped, turning once more to Irri who was about to step out with Drogon and his brothers in their cage.

“The dragons.” The handmaiden stopped and listened. “Irri, when you are safe, free the dragons. They will find their mother again. They will fly to her.” Irri nodded, straightening her back. There was such resolve in the young woman, Jorah couldn’t help but admire her. “Be quick now, and be safe.”

***

As soon as they got out of the City, Jorah was able to breathe again and, more importantly, think more clearly. Which only made him feel the guilt more acutely. There were so many secrets now between the Khaleesi and him, from his early spying to this night’s succumbing: he’d never be able to ask for her forgiveness.

Jorah was cursing himself, holding his Khaleesi close, his eyes falling on her face, as his horse took on the rocky slopes of the hill at full speed. She was gone to the world, but his lips kept kissing the top of her head, as if to plead with her to hold on. He was going to joust with death and succeed; he knew this. Just as he knew that, upon waking Daenerys, he would tell her everything and she would banish him.

There it was, straight ahead, the waterfall where her life would begin anew, and his would end.

When he reached the foot of the cliff, Jorah dismounted quickly, not registering the eerie beauty of the natural pools; a pity as they shimmered under the moonglow, opalescent and blue, now that they were far from Qarth and its black magic. Jorah pulled Daenerys off his mare and, without breaking his stride, he carried her into the stream. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he did not feel how cold the water was, but Daenerys’ body jolted in his arms and she cried out, opening her eyes. Instinctively, she fought Jorah, but he was stronger than she and he brought her with him underwater, holding on tight. It lasted a few seconds, until Daenerys felt herself being pulled back up, her breath coming quick and deep, and her glance settling on Jorah’s face. She tried to speak but no sound came out of her gaping mouth. Jorah cupped her face in one of his hands, searching her eyes, while keeping her close to him.

“Khaleesi? Speak to me. Do you recognize me? Do you know where we are?”

“I’m…I’m in your arms. I’m with you.” Her teeth were chattering.

“Yes!” It wasn’t much, it wasn’t enough, but already Jorah felt like smiling. She’d be okay, Daenerys was coming back, and she was indeed in his arms if only for a little while longer.

“My Knight. Jorah.”

_The way she said his name, like a blessing_. It was so unexpected, it stole Jorah’s breath away.

“I’m with you, in the coldest water I’ve ever been in.”

And before Jorah could blink, Daenerys’ lips were on his, her body crushing his. It took a second for him to register what was happening but, when he did, his arm tightened its hold on his Queen, one of his hands cradling her head, to make sure the kiss would not break. Until they had to come up for air.

“Dragons hate the cold…” Daenerys rasped.

“I know Khaleesi, forgive me. Your body temperature, I had to…”

Daenerys shook her head, shushing Jorah. “I deserved this,” she admitted, her teeth chattering.

Her Knight was confused, first by the kiss, now by Daenerys’ words. “I waited too long,” she said. “I endangered our lives in Qarth, I hid the truth from you, my feelings from you, I…” _What was she saying?_ This should be _his_ confession. “And I have used you, in my dreams, in _such_ a forbidden way!”

Were her dreams as damning as his? No, surely not. That was impossible. Jorah did not dare… hope that they were. So words flew out of his mouth, to rescue his Queen’s virtue.

“No! Khaleesi, these dreams were born of sorcery. I know you do not look upon me like that…”

But Daenerys didn’t let him finish. Pressing herself once more on him, she took his face in her hands to make sure he saw her eyes and the truth in them. She was shivering all over, but her voice was strong: “Jorah, Pyat Pree’s only magic was to know how to feed on unspoken truths between you and I.”

Jorah blinked, the weight of Daenerys’ words rendering him speechless.

_How she loved him in this instant!_ Yet she let him speak first.

“Khaleesi. I…I do not deserve _this_. You do not know…What I have done…What I did not prevent…”

“Jorah, you saved my life.” Daenerys blurted out, intense. “So many times. In so many ways. _So many ways. _From the start, and in my dreams.” She glided in closer, her lips brushing his:_ “_Including when Irri left us alone, my love.”

She knew. She remembered. She was calling him her love.

“But if we don’t get out of this godsforsaken icy water,” she added, smiling suddenly, “I will never, ever, let you share my bed.”

Oh! They were out of the stream almost as quickly as they came in, Jorah covering Daenerys’ body in the cloak he brought with them. His Westerosi cloak. And as he tied it ‘round his Queen, blushing from her words and her kiss — feeling overwhelmed really —, something shifted in him.

Though Daenerys’ levity was now palpable, her spirit and body renewed, anguish griped Jorah’s heart. He turned from her when she disrobed from underneath his cape, himself having to shed his soaked garments, and when he was done and he stood naked in the light of the breaking dawn, freezing, he remained on guard, like a prisoner awaiting court. Jorah was shivering. Not so much because of the mountain air but from having to find the courage to confess what weighed on his heart; what had to be said before his Queen shamed herself any further by wasting her love on him. Jorah started to speak, recounting the night, recounting their week in Qarth, in simple words that nonetheless damned him and, feeling Daenerys take notice in the silence greeting his words, he told of his lustful dreams too. He was brave, forging on, laying bare his heart and going back in time, to when they first met. When his voice faltered because he neared the final confession, Daenerys’ sweet voice called to him.

Jorah turned ‘round then and, seeing the first ray of the rising sun cast an unearthly glow all about his Khaleesi, he simply fell to his knees, her beauty searing his heart. And it all came out: his longing for home, the King’s offer, the early spying, the endangering. _His treason._ Jorah sensed Daenerys approaching him and his voice faltered again. He looked at her naked feet peering from under the woolly cape covering her and there was a lull in time. Then he felt one of her hands come to rest lightly on his head, and it gave him the strength to continue…

“Khaleesi, it is in the very thick of my betraying you that I realized I could love no other _but_ you.”

His voice broke recollecting the moment, and he had to close his eyes. Jorah did not see Daenerys leaning in and opening the folds of his cloak to enfold him. Nor did he realize that his profile now lied on his Queen’s naked thighs, when he took up his confession again. Yet, his words spilled out on the softness of her skin, while his arms came to wrap her legs, her intimate scent engulfing him.

“I was holding Robert Baratheon’s pardon in my hand, that which I had hoped for, ever since my exile, and it felt hollow. I could not go through with it. My allegiance, _my heart_, lay with you, Khaleesi…”

Jorah opened his eyes then, lifting them to his Queen, naked before him like the first Goddess. Tears were falling from her cheeks and baptizing his upturned face. He wanted to die, until he heard her voice whisper words of forgiveness. She needed to repeat them for them to sink in but, when they did, Jorah exhaled on Daenerys’ skin, his arms holding her tight, his lips kissing her flesh, trailing up, as he came to stand taller on his knees until his lips brushed against her secret folds, with reverence, invited there by the hand she softly pressed once more to his head, sighing, her fingers slipping through the curls at the nape of his neck.

Jorah wanted to die but, this time, because he was finally home.

He didn’t see Daenerys lifting her face to the rising sun, and close her eyes, her body swooning from sensing his warm breath on her intimate lips. She ached for him, and she loved him so, in this instant, hoping he could feel her forgiveness.

“Rise, Ser Jorah.”

Which he did, keeping his body next to Daenerys’, until he stood taller than her inside the shelter of his cloak, the one he so often dreamed of wrapping around her shoulders, like a Westerosi groom. Yet, here she was, wrapping _him_, to keep his body warm and close to her.

“Will you pledge yourself anew, my Knight?”

“I will, I am.”

“Do you swear to guard me with your life?... And love no other?”

“I do.”

“Then Ser, I beg you, kiss your Queen before the day breaks and…”

A high-pitch screech cut the air and made both Jorah and Daenerys start, Jorah tightening his hold on his Queen in a protective manner. But there was no need. She was smiling proudly and, quickly following her glance, Jorah saw what she saw: her dragons flying towards them. They circled once and then settled on the trees above the natural pools, Drogon screeching again and letting out a cocky jet of blood-orange flames to acknowledge his mother. Jorah exhaled then, the last of his anxiety vanishing.

“Irri and the khalasar are safe,” Daenerys said.

Jorah turned to his Queen, surprised once more to discover that she was aware of everything around her while she was under the sorcerer’s spell.

“Yes…” he murmured.

“Thanks to your orders, Ser.”

“No, thanks to Irri’s courage.”

“And cunning,” Daenerys added, quite sure of herself. “She went to fetch you and she left you with me. She knew you’d save me.”

There was so much to unravel under these words, Jorah didn’t know where to begin. Nor did he really care to, not when his Khaleesi was looking at him the way she did. Not when their bodies were irradiating a new kind of heat under his cloak.

“The day is breaking Ser, and your Queen demanded a kiss, or have you for—"

Oh no, he had not forgotten. In one sweeping motion, Jorah lifted Daenerys to him, in a bear’s hug, his lips taking hers. He could have been willing time to stop again because they remained like this until he felt the sun warm his back. When they had to break for air, Daenerys found herself still held by Jorah, her feet not touching the ground, his strong arms never tiring it seemed, just like in her dreams. She blushed then remembering Jorah’s caresses and virility, and she sighed taking in his handsome ruggedness, the sun rays giving him a true golden halo.

“Sometimes I look at you,” Daenerys murmured, “and I can’t believe you’re real.”

Did she say that out loud? It seemed so because Jorah blinked and suddenly smiled bashfully before whispering her name, as if to scold her. She couldn’t resist kissing him then, but tenderly, sensuously, as if discovering him for the first time.

Jorah answered in turn and though their touch could not have been gentler, his manhood stirred, and he found himself swallowing hard. He put Daenerys down and tried to disengage himself, but she tightened her arms around him. There was nowhere to hide his arousal but still he tried to pretend, his voice breaking from the strain of it as he whispered on her lips: “Khaleesi…Do you wish to go back now? We could rejoin the khalasar…”

Daenerys smiled into Jorah’s eyes, caressing his gruffy cheek, and she simply nodded “no.” She was feeling him throb against her body, and it moved and excited her in turn. How could she resist him when he was trying to remain her chaste Knight, and failing, so gloriously?

Jorah’s hands dared to move on her, and his voice dropped an octave: “In your nightmare, you seemed to suffer. You seemed—I would never hurt you, Daenerys.”

“Oh Jorah…” Daenerys knew this, and she smiled touching his face. “Rest your mind and soul, sweet Ser.” She leaned further, stealing a kiss, and whispering her secret: “I’ve only ever known ecstasy, in your arms. Whether in my dreams, or my waking fantasies.” Daenerys felt Jorah blush under her fingers, while she perused his cheeks.

Surely this was a dream, he told himself. A new one, and he’d wake, aching and alone. But his Love moved on him, the swell of her breasts brushing his skin, and her belly… Her soft belly kissing the hardness of him. A deep rumble rose from his chest on her touch, and one of his hands came to claim the small of her back, to press her to him. Possessively. Yet his voice failed him.

“Won’t you love me, Ser?” Daenerys murmured, daring to speak for them both. “Right here. Lay me on your cloak and make me yours.”

“Daenerys…” Jorah whispered his Khaleesi’s name like a prayer. But he did lay her down, slowly, carefully, his eyes worshiping her, under the green canopy where Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion were cooing. Queen and Knight were both entranced, not quite believing the other was there in their arms; and that this was real, truly, finally. Yet it must have been because he never knew her lips would taste like berries and she never before smelled the green essences from Bear Island, still emanating from him. “Jorah…”

The dragon in Daenerys was awakening, her skin so warm and her caresses more daring, but the Bear wanted it soft. “Let me worship you, let me take my time.” With shaky breath, Daenerys relinquished and abandoned herself to her Knight’s touch. His eyes followed his hand as it glid down the silk of her skin. His breath caught on Daenerys’ whimper when gooseflesh came to cover the alabaster of her breast. His touch did this, he told himself, in wonder…And the same magic repeated itself when Jorah breathed over the rosy peak, letting the nipple rise to his lips before tasting it with his tongue. It made her whimper again. She was trying so hard not to beg but she had to arch her back when Jorah’s tongue came to claim her other breast, the orb so hard in his hand, and her rosy peak reaching for him, from her long, suppressed desire.

He would never leave her skin. He would never get enough.

Jorah’s hand travelled the length of his Khaleesi, while his mouth feasted on her bosom, and everywhere his fingers trailed, they awakened the grain of her skin. Never in his life, did Jorah hold a woman so made for love; and no man ever awakened Daenerys the way Jorah did. His fingers glided gently over her plush belly and his hand came to curl on the slope of her hip bone, the skin there so tender. Through all his caresses, he never stopped the laving of her candied nipples, relishing the feel of Daenerys’ fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. Her gentle toying there, like she would of a pet, actually made him more wanton, and greedy, for her breasts. He felt like a bear licking forbidden sweets until his paw discovered something even sweeter down below, a secret hive oozing honey amidst Daenerys’ slow gyrating motions. Jorah literally growled then, his mouth leaving his maiden’s skin so his eyes could contemplate his fingers emerging from her silver curls, covered with opalescence. Daenerys sighed and whimpered, forlorn without his touch. Which awaken the feral in Jorah, a rumble escaping his chest while contemplating his Love’s features, asking for pleasure. She was gazing at him through half-hooded eyes, and biting her bottom lip, her body gliding once more towards his fingers, her body begging for immodest caresses on her secret folds.

How could he resist her? Jorah’s heart was racing now, and his breath came short between each word: “Daenerys, my Queen, may I, please?”

Hearing his Lady’s whimpers of acquiescence, Jorah exhaled and swallowed hard before moving ever so slowly, kissing his way towards his reward. He settled between Daenerys’ legs, lifting one of them over his shoulder, and his warm hand glid down the silk of her thigh, until his slow panting over her slicken folds made her secret lips flutter in anticipation. A moan escaped both their throats and Jorah gazed in wonder. How beautiful his Khaleesi was, the fruit of her sex dripping for him and her face close to rapture, the nascent sun rays falling on her rosy cheeks.

“My love…” Jorah committed the image to memory before bowing down, with reverence, to the banquet awaiting him. Just like the caresses he bestowed on her breasts, those on her secret lips were slow and delicious, even after Daenerys began to push herself on his tongue, the dragon in her making her grow impatient once more. She pressed her swollen lips on her Bear’s soft and prickly mouth, but Jorah’s knew how to sweetly torture her; he had much practice in his dreams of her. When his fingers unhood her pearl and his tongue smeared honey all over it, twirling it deliciously, he growled, almost smiling, hearing his Queen react and feeling her arch her back. His caresses came quicker until he felt the fluttering of Daenerys’ folds accelerate, in tune with her moans, each new wave making her crest closer to her release…and making his cock ache. She called to him suddenly, her voice all at once pleading and regal, and so he knelt before her, his hand still caressing her, his thumb rubbing her pearl and his fingers flirting with her lips, to prolong the sweet torture.

“Khaleesi, tell me. Tell me your wish.”

Daenerys looked at him then, his kneeling body golden in the early morning light, his muscled abdomen the perfect frame for his manhood. It was so generous, thick and formidable, and thudding there with want, a glistening tear slipping from its tip. Seeing the beauty and strength of her Knight, it was not his fingers she wanted anymore, it was his warrior’s cock. And she let him know, breathily, wantonly, until he complied, releasing her folds and taking a second to make her look at his fingers lavish her secret honey over the perfect crown of his erect manhood. The sight made her sex clench and she moaned incoherently, until she both cried out and sighed with relief upon feeling her Love slip between her folds, his breadth testing the limits of her core, and the spearing of him so daunting, her pearl came brushing against the hot velvety skin of his cock. She reached out for Jorah then and he came to her, draping his strong frame over her _petite_ form, one of his arms lifting her waist to him, to better claim her while his mouth took hers delicately, in perfect contrast with the sheer strength emanating from his whole body.

“Khaleesi…”

His voice. The sound of his voice, calling her so, while filling her so completely: Daenerys never knew the coming together of two souls could feel so good. Her honey was dancing on Jorah’s burning shaft, the music of their joining bodies primeval. And he took her slowly, to make her feel him possess her, and make her climb higher. He stole a look down, making sure the length of him claimed her just so, his hand pushing on her thigh, his thumb rubbing her pearl, and his cock getting harder still, covered in honey, spearing her lips. With every gentle thrust, Jorah was spelling out his undying love, in a way words could never express. Daenerys was breathing his name, and they locked eyes, willing time to extend as they crested together. Jorah was reaching deep now, awakening a new pulse in Daenerys, and relishing how her body was reacting to his. There was so much love burning for him in her violet eyes, his heart felt like shattering.

Daenerys reached for him, to kiss him, and when she bit his bottom lip, something snaped in Jorah. With his arm still around her waist he pulled her hard unto his cock. His buttocks contracted, like the muscles of his back, to thrust even more deeply, each snap of his hips a show of unabashed hunger. Daenerys cried out her acquiescence and the wild sound freed her Knight. Both their bodies surged forward, Daenerys’ legs wrapping themselves around Jorah. His arm continued to pull her to him, but she cupped his face, to kiss him again, and breathe with him, until he heard it in her voice, before feeling it in the very depth of her, the shattering. He pulled back slightly then, to better contemplate her: his love, his Khaleesi, as she soared and arched her back, his name on her lips. 

_Gods, he loved her so!_ Daenerys’ walls were seizing ‘round his burning shaft, in an imperious way, ordering him to surrender. He wanted nothing more now than to come undone, in the tightness of her, but not before he could brand her. Jorah looked at himself penetrate Daenerys through her prolonged climax, the wanton beauty of it hardening him impossibly more, and then he dared take both her wrists in his free hand to bring them over her head. He needed to hold her down, to anchor the last of his thrusts, the enamoured beast in him stirring fully awake before plunging towards her offered, gracile neck. There, he bit and he kissed, while thrusting harder, relishing his Khaleesi’s moans of pleasure, until, at last, he growled the spilling of his love, invoking the name of his Love.

When the delicious searing and reeling stopped, Jorah and Daenerys found each other’s lips again and their whispering began anew: half-formed words of love escaping their lips between tender, exhausted kisses. Jorah brought the folds of his cloak over Daenerys as he settled next to her while keeping her body intertwined with his. And he smiled, eyes closed, when his Khaleesi lathered his face with butterfly kisses. They were about to slip into slumber when Drogon let out a timid screech. Both Jorah and Daenerys started, looking up, and both laughed softly seeing the curious dragon peer down on them, looking a bit dumbfounded.

“Should I be worried, my Queen?” Jorah whispered.

“Oh no,” Daenerys cooed, “Drogon loves his father. We’ll just need to rethink the sleeping arrangements.”

***

A few hours later, as the sun was glowing more brightly, Daenerys settled snuggly against Jorah’s strong frame, on his saddle, as they both peered down towards the fortified city which they escaped to find each other. There were a few smoke pillars billowing in the wind, near its walls, the handiwork of the khalasar who, clearly, not only escaped to safety but began avenging their leader without further ado.

“Qarth awaits us, my Knight. I have dragons to feed, a murderous plot to squash…”

“A sorcerer to burn…”

“And a treacherous city to plunder.”

They could be pirates, the way they softly jested together, planning their deed.

“At once, Khaleesi,” Jorah added, spurring his mare down the hill.

“So very eager to wreak havoc, Ser Jorah?”

“So very eager to ravish you _after _the havoc, Khaleesi. On bales of silk, covered in jewels and anointed with precious oils…”

Surprised at Jorah’s expansive detailing of his amorous imagination, Daenerys turned her head to him and frowned a bit comically. He stopped himself from adding anything else… but laughter brightened his blue eyes. So, his Queen turned once more, looking ahead and, smiling, settled her head against her Knight’s breast.

“Well then, sweet Ser, what dreams may come…”

***


	2. Of Golden Sighs and Shooting Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After tasting but once the Elysium of Daenerys' love, Jorah doesn't know what to expect when his Khaleesi summons him to her terrace on top of her new palace in Qarth. Must he forget she let him love her after saving her from Pyat Pree's spell? When Jorah finally reaches the open aired garden, the blood rushing through his veins rings in his ears, deafening all sounds but that of his heart, and it skips when he sees her. Daenerys. A vision in her white billowing dress standing on the very edge of the tower’s parapet, the declining sun coloring the vaporous fabric of her gown in shades of pink and peach. Coloring her skin, coloring her luscious lips.
> 
> This is going to be agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, this is a first for me: a follow-up chapter to what I originally meant as a stand-alone offer in our Erotic Garden. This new tale takes place a few days after "What Dreams May Come" and, like it, is set in a GoT AU, that of an "extended" Qarth, GoT's most hedonistic and heavenly locale, in which I've decided to gift our heroes further amorous awakenings.
> 
> As usual, I am indebted to Houseofthebear's unflinching support. This time, she's also graciously let me borrow from one of her Blurring the Lines's chapters (36. Written in the Stars). I must also thank my other steadfast accomplice, Chryssadirewolf, for the beauty of her new moodboard.
> 
> There are more acknowledgments in the End Notes. Hope you enjoy!

**OF GOLDEN SIGHS AND SHOOTING STARS**

Jorah’s heart was pounding as he walked up the whitewashed stairway leading to Daenerys’ new rooftop terrace in Qarth. He didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know what to think anymore. Had he dreamed what had transpired between them?

She had forgiven him, hadn’t she? Surely, she had. Surely. Because…

She had let him love her.

She had been _his_ up on that mountain, where he had taken her to break the spell of Pyat Pree. Immersing his Khaleesi in the cool sacred waters to break her fever, Jorah had saved her life, while readying himself for banishment, for death. But instead, she had forgiven him. Forgiven his past betrayal, forgiven him his immodest touch, blessing him anew with her words… and with her flesh. It had been Elysium and sweet release and yet, ever since, it had been anguish. Because this was 3 days and 3 nights ago. An eternity.

Of course, they had been caught in the whirlwind upon their return to the City. The Dothraki had squashed the _Thirteen_’s attempt to kill Daenerys and kidnap her dragons. Her warriors had slayed the leaders, forcing Daenerys to restore peace and order in the Merchants’ jeweled city… thus making Jorah once more her right _sworded_ hand, her advisor and general. But they had not shared one moment alone.

Until tonight.

When Jorah finally reached the open aired garden, the blood rushing through his veins rang in his ears, deafening all sounds but that of his heart, and it skipped when he saw her. Daenerys. A vision in her white billowing dress standing on the very edge of the tower’s parapet, her profile turned towards the declining sun, its rays already colouring the vaporous fabric of her gown in shades of pink and peach, colouring her skin, colouring her luscious lips. Jorah found himself unable to move, not daring to come closer. Then he saw it, the luxuriously cushioned bed spread out in the center of the terrace. And his breath caught when, raising his eyes again, he saw Daenerys looking straight at him… catching him having seen what she may or may not have prepared for him, for them. This was going to be agony.

“Your Grace, you asked for me.”

There was a lull in time as a soft breeze played with Daenerys’ long silky hair, while sea birds made themselves heard from afar… but then the woman he loved smiled, and Jorah could breathe again.

“Come,” she said.

It wasn’t an order, but Jorah found himself obeying nonetheless letting his Khaleesi pull on the invisible tether binding them. Her arm was lifted, beckoning him, and she smiled watching him slowly near her, his gait as noble and measured as always. Jorah had one hand on the pommel of his long sword, next to his new form fitting breaches, his other hand by his side but slightly curved, always ready to hold, to protect… or caress, it seemed to Daenerys. When Jorah stopped, facing her, the Queen found herself taking one step closer, her eyes taking in the glory of him, from the breeze playing with his ginger curls, to the setting sunlight turning his tanned features to bronze, and spinning gold through his hair and gruff. One ray of light shone very deep into the azure of his eyes and Daenerys thought to herself that this is how she would always remember him, her perfect amorous Knight. They both stood looking at each other, none of them speaking, perfectly content to simply exist in each other’s orbit. Then Jorah blinked and both of them spoke, their words overlapping before fumbling back into silence. Smiling bashfully, Jorah let his Queen speak up again.

“You seem like a new man. Conquest suits you.”

“Your Grace?”

Jorah looked so flustered all of a sudden, Daenerys found herself mentally rushing to his rescue though she was guilty of the double entendre that made him blush… and her, smile internally.

“Qarth! You conquered Qarth, securing our return and the Dothraki’s take-over.” That seemed to do the trick. “I’ve not yet thanked you, having hardly seen you these past three days. Your duties kept you busy, all hours of the day and night, Ser?”

And… the fluster was back.

“My Queen, I was simply… I was, yes, overseeing our strategic needs, awaiting your pleas---, your orders and…”

Had she ever noticed how absolutely irresistible he was when trying to keep his emotions in check?

“I see you’ve made time for a wash though,” she teased.

A blink, and no words.

“Your golden shirt?” Daenerys explained, crooking an eyebrow.

Lowering her eyes to Jorah’s preferred garment, Daenerys also raised her hands to its clean fabric for emphasis, her fingers delicately trailing its open folds, and, in the process, ever so slightly brushing the golden hair on her Knight’s chest. Jorah’s pectorals expanded under her light touch, his intake of air most noticeable… and words came spilling out of his mouth to hide his fluster.

“Yes!... I mean no. It was left on my bed, this evening… One of the handmaidens, I surmised. Irri, possibly…” Seeing Daenerys’ knowing smile broaden, Jorah stopped and, catching on, he blushed. “Oh!”

Of course, it was Irri. Because, in fact, it was Daenerys.

And then, he had to try to say something. Be witty. Or just make conversation? 

“I…”

But by the Gods, that smile of hers and the twinkle in her eyes.

“You…”

Seven hells, he didn’t know how to play these games, no matter how lovely and dizzying they were, and so… “I thank you, Your Grace.”

“Oh Jorah…” 

_Silly bear_, Daenerys added in thought, her heart bursting with the love her Knight’s confession and amorous passion had awaken in her, up on that sacred mountain. She raised her hand to his cheek then, to cup it tenderly, the same way she used to _before_, when her caress would bless him into submission. But, this time, her touch seemed to free Jorah. Sighing deeply, he did what he never dared before: he put his own hand on hers, closing his eyes and, squeezing her fingers gently, he brought them to his lips, to kiss them and her open palm, with a reverence tinged with unmistakable passion.

“Khaleesi…”

Gods, when he called her thus! A delicious _frisson_ seized Daenerys and the air shifted between them, her Knight’s expression turning unabashedly amorous and slightly feral. Daenerys parted her lips, enraptured, and—

_“My Princess, pardon the interruption.”_

Turning swiftly towards the stranger’s voice, his hand reaching for his sword, Jorah once more became the fierce protector but Daenerys’ soft hand on his arm told him to relax. This man was no stranger to her.

“Grand Maester Baylock, is something the matter?”

“Not at all your Majesty, I only wished to make sure your new accommodations were to your liking. Should I send servants to pour you, and the… Captain of your Guards, refreshments?”

The Maester’s malaise at identifying Jorah’s function was palpable and, indeed, keenly felt by the latter, but Daenerys didn’t let it sink any further, introducing the two men more officially.

“Maester Baylock, Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island…” The two men silently bowing to each other, Daenerys continued: “…is my advisor and general to my Dothraki forces. I invited him on your lovely terrace…”

“Now _yours_, Princess. I had been awaiting your coming for such a long time. I am only too happy to have kept death at bay long enough to gift the Targaryen heir a palace worthy of her.”

“And I will forever be grateful for your loyalty and generosity, Grand Maester, as will Ser Jorah… once he sees _why_ I invited him to join me here this evening.”

For a few seconds, Jorah had understood the drift of the conversation but not anymore. And with everyone present keenly aware of the silky and expansive bed taking up most of the space between them, it was frankly a miracle that the embarrassment suddenly seizing him did not show on his face. Only the pommel of his sword felt the sudden tensing of his body. But he did turn a pleading glance towards Daenerys. Looking up into her Knight’s eyes, the mischief returned to the lilt in her voice.

“There is to be a spectacular show of shooting stars tonight, Ser Jorah! The Grand Maester explained it all to me earlier today.”

“Yes indeed!” The Grand Maester stood smiling kindly at Jorah, expecting some kind of reaction from him. A word maybe? And it came… but somewhat delayed.

“I… am looking forward to the experience. Your Grace. Grand Maester.”

Right. Definitely feeling _de trop_, but not exactly sure what to make of what was left unspoken, Grand Maester Baylock made sure Daenerys did not require anything else and retreated below.

Once they were alone again, Jorah turned to Daenerys.

“Shooting stars, Your Grace?”

The formality was back in his voice, but Daenerys didn’t let it deter her. She too wasn’t sure how to navigate the uncharted waters of their unusual rapport, but she had longed these 3 nights for Jorah and…

“I have never witnessed the Perseid, have you?”

She was so youthful suddenly, Jorah thought, her enthusiasm so candid and contagious, how could he not be hopelessly in love with her?

“Never, Your Grace… with a celestial being capable of outshining them.”

“Oh…”

Now who was flustered? And who found his tongue?... Looking up at Jorah once again, Daenerys couldn’t help losing herself in his eyes, azure and adoring. She was quite in danger of drowning in them if she didn’t recover with a smile. Which she did, just in time, playfully taking Jorah’s hand to bring them near the ledge of the terrace, on its westerly side, where they could see the sun disappear behind the tranquil sea which lay on the other side of Qarth. 

Just before reaching the parapet, Daenerys let go of Jorah, and he halted his stride to better look at her, his love, silhouetted by the still glowing sun setting her figure ablaze. Somewhere in the city, a singular voice was singing in prayer and Jorah’s heart constricted. Gods, how he was torn between worshipping Daenerys and… and taking her in his arms, to make her his again, to make her moan his—

“Jorah!” She turned her head towards him. “How far is Dragonstone from Qarth? Come, come tell me of Westeros! It lies where the sun is setting and how I long for it. For home.” These last words she whispered because Jorah was now standing next to her, just behind her shoulder.

“Home, Jorah. With you, by my side.”

“Yes, Khaleesi.” _Yes, my love._

“I feel I can almost reach it this evening…” Feeling a magnetic pull greater than herself, Daenerys punctuated her words by moving forward.

“Careful!” The word had not completely left Jorah’s lips that Daenerys felt his protective embrace hold her back. A delicious shiver ran through her as her Knight’s left hand gripped her shoulder while his right arm, strong and warm, encircled her to keep her body from dangerously nearing the rather low-cut parapet.

She smiled to herself then and snuggled her back to Jorah, in effect ensconcing herself in his tall form. “Yes, like this. Hold me Jorah…”

Her Knight silently answered by tightening his grip on her, his fingers gliding round her naked shoulder and his large hand opening up to press on her stomach. He could have argued it was to better protect her, but the pressure his warm palm exerted was _possessive_, and Daenerys almost purred her contentment. If this was to be how she’d get him to touch her without reserve, she’d come up with a hundred more schemes!

And he would gladly play whichever part she needed him to play, Jorah thought, not even realizing how his thoughts were answering his Khaleesi’s. He just knew he wouldn’t mind staying like this for all eternity, feeling the soft, warm pliancy of her form, which she entrusted to him, completely, her head reclining on him, her silky hair teasing his skin. Without thinking, Jorah’s lips brushed her tresses and he sighed softly next to her temple.

How velvety his breath on her skin, thought Daenerys, as soft as the breeze rising towards them. It gave her lovely chills. She became acutely aware of the warmth exuding from her Knight’s body, and the feel of his fingers on the cool roundness of her naked shoulder while his other hand brushed the fabric over her soft belly. It felt… it felt like he was wishing her dress away through the soft susurrus of his caress. It put her in a state of delicious grogginess, and she sighed, tilting her head ever so slightly to welcome more of his gruff next to her face. She felt him so near, her voice was but a whisper when next she breathed his name.

Jorah was about to answer her, with a kiss in the secret of her gracile neck, when the sun setting behind low-clinging clouds on the horizon found an overture and came to blind them. The glare was so powerful, it startled Daenerys, and Jorah instinctively pulled her to him. In the process, looking down, he noticed the play of fiery colours on her white dress and her skin. Gods, her skin, iridescent, and the swell of her breasts, like sleeping doves… Mesmerized, Jorah started when his Queen spoke again.

“Jorah? The sun. Tell me what lies beyond its fire …” The celestial orb was calling Daenerys and she moved forward again, pushing against Jorah’s arm, her enraptured face never ceasing to gaze longingly towards the horizon. “Tell me of Westeros. Tell me of Dragonstone.”

And Jorah did, holding her fast without daring to pull her completely back to safety, sensing she craved the danger, and relishing the notion that it was _he_ securing her. He found the words then, in his melodious voice, conjuring the haughty beauty of the island that begat his Queen… all the while subtly repositioning himself against her back, to better anchor himself, as she projected herself slightly over the ledge.

“_Let my fingers find flaws and fissures in the face of cliff and crag, allowing feet to edge along crack and ledge, storm and spum have scared for centuries across the countenance of stacks…”_

Daenerys’ breath quivered on the poem’s words, on the eerie spell Jorah’s voice held upon her soul, and then upon her flesh when the hand holding her shoulder began to caress her. Very _very_ lightly, like the breeze, her Knight’s fingers glided along her shoulder blade, and ended up brushing against the nape of her neck, giving her gooseflesh. She held her breath then and thought: _if I don’t say anything, he won’t stop_.

A silent wish finding an echo in Jorah’s own feverish thoughts:_ As long as the sonnet lasts, she will let me touch her_.

So, he did make the sonnet last, and he did caress his Goddess while she floated above the City in his arms, his fingers and his breathy words playing on her skin while his tall form enfolded her.Daenerys sighed with delight feelingJorah like this. She didn’t even start when his manhood came naturally topress against her Venus dimples. But she did notice her Knight’s voice catching. Without his kilt, there was no true barrier between his desire and she, nor between his flesh and her imagination. Feeling the natural swell of him against her form, and hearing his voice falter into a low rumble, Daenerys had to put her hand over his, the one still resting on her stomach, to reassure him, to let him know he belonged where he was, all of him, nestled in the nook of her, to protect her. Her upturned profile brushing his gruff, she took the relay of the narrative, her own voice halting on the pulse she felt against her back, and her own, answering her Knight’s in the very depths of her.

“Oh, I remember this poem… from the books you gave me. It spoke too of the eerie mists which often cover the island. And the wailing… A wailing which can be heard mourning through the fog. Have you heard it, Jorah?”

He had of course and, finding his voice once more, he told her so, his lips brushing against her hair, the rest of the poem unfurling on its silk, in his softest purr.

Jorah’s _mélopée_ was so enveloping, Daenerys had to close her eyes and, when she opened them again, tears were pearling down her cheeks. Tears of longing _and _contentment which Jorah could not see… Tears of pleasure too when she delicately took his hand, the one holding her fast, to put it over her heart. Jorah’s voice faltered again, for a second, but then resumed, deeper, softer, as his mouth neared Daenerys’ ear.

“There are carved dragons guarding the portals of the castle, standing strong and proud, waiting for their Queen…” Each word rolled over Jorah’s tongue like a caress only matched in its sensuality by the way his fingers were now gliding on the glowing skin of her clavicle and below, back on the ivory of her bosom where she had invited them. Daenerys’ breathing accelerated.

“Don’t stop.”

The poem, or the caress? It was both, of course, and Jorah obliged, his voice mixing with the sounds of the ocean and its birds, those of Qarth and those imagined of Dragonstone. He was describing the crashing of waves and the fury of tempests when he felt Daenerys quiver more profoundly and pull back from the ledge, pressing herself completely to his back and, by her very movement, offer her body more fully to his caress; nay _commanding_ his caress. His hand following the turn of her heaving breast and slipping under her garment to feel her pounding heart. Jorah’s voice dropped again while his Queen sighed under his touch, feeling, as well as he, her breast swell in the cup of his hand. And, of course, she pleaded again:

“Don’t stop.”

_Oh! Where had he learned to caress a woman thus?_ Daenerys held her breath as Jorah’s fingers discovered the hardening bud of her breast. He might as well had been brushing her secret pearl. She almost moaned out loud; she almost touched herself… She wasn’t simply a Queen in his arms, Daenerys realized, she was all woman. Jorah made her feel like one, desired and adored… while also empowering her to feel invincible. She would brave all obstacles with him by her side! Pressed to her Knight, giving herself over to his touch, she felt like a deity with a woman’s heart and lust for life. Suddenly, Daenerys was reminded of something, something like a long-ago memory, hiding deep inside her, but she couldn’t fathom what. She just knew she wanted _this_ to go on, into the night. Just she with her Knight awakening the fire in her while he held her over Qarth.

Jorah sensed it and, daringly, his fingers began to tug on the fabric of Daenerys’ dress, _slowly_, his eyes following the progress of his undressing in the preternatural light of the magic hour. Soon, a feral rumble left his chest when the vaporous chiffon caught on his Queen’s erect nipple. It sent lightning up Daenerys’ spine and down in his shaft, as he felt her quake in his arms and, _by the Gods_, he did not know how to stop himself from imagining biting and suckling the perfect form of her bud, lifting still, and darkening _so_ with want, under his touch. It made him clench his jaw. It was driving him crazy. But Daenerys was still speaking, asking him about Bear Island and the cool, cold North, her words achingly prolonging their foreplay… and, so, he had to abide. He had to tell her of the spruces and the virgin springs, his whispers hoarse now, like his calloused fingers brushing over the hardening of her breast, over and over again…

When his other hand began to disrobe the rest of his Queen, exposing Daenerys’ flesh to the wind and the salty air, Jorah could not have said which words were coming out of his mouth, nor if they made any sense, because his breathing deepened and he felt his manhood stir beyond control, making Daenerys moan softly and grab his hips. Not resisting anymore, Jorah dived to the opalescent shimmer of his love’s offered neck and, trailing his lips and tongue to the lobe of her ear, which he bit, he interrupted his tale and whispered there, almost savagely: “Though I am a Northerner, Khaleesi, I am no wintery man.” 

Then everything became a blur, Daenerys’ half naked form twirling and colliding with Jorah’s mouth and hard body. He was pulling her to him, falling back towards the bed awaiting them and he only felt himself breathe again when they stumbled upon it. Discarding his sword, Jorah lowered himself unto the bed, in effect kneeling before Daenerys while holding her hand.

By the Gods, how otherworldly she appeared to him, glowing under the darkening blue canopy of the sky, with the first stars twinkling round her head, crowning her. Jorah hesitated then, torn between courtly love and what he knew could be between them. But Daenerys chose for him by letting him pull on her hand to join him on the bed. In fact, when she got close enough, she surprised him by seizing his golden shirt, to undress him, her glance regal and commanding. Her hands claiming the expanse of his chest, while her lips and tongue tasted the saltiness of his hairy chest, the caress made Jorah’s breath waver and his manhood ache. Sensing it, Daenerys’ eyes glided down towards his breeches and she whispered Jorah’s name seeing the unmistakable swell and tightness awaiting her pleasure. Hearing her, and then seeing her part her wet lips, Jorah felt another surge of blood run through him and he jolted perceptibly, grabbing Daenerys’ wrist as if afraid she might run away while he hoped, in fact,… he hoped his Queen would _free_ him.

And she did. Her eyes capturing Jorah’s, Daenerys’ free hand dived to his manhood, making him instinctively, uncontrollably, lift his crotch to her, exhaling hard. Then she palmed his hardness, and he quivered like a wild Dothraki charge.

Was this how it had been for him, all this time, she wondered? He, longing for her; she, torturing him? Did he wake in the middle of the night, aching like this, for her? Did he dream of her touching him thus, reaching for him? Oh, how he must have suffered from the first… and these past 3 nights. But no more, she told herself.

She looked at her wrist, caught in Jorah’s grip and she repressed a soft smile. His fear that she might escape somehow made her love him more. How vulnerable he seemed to her, her beautiful strong Knight, lost for words. Not wishing him to suffer any longer, and answering her own thirst, Daenerys went to tug on the laces of his breaches, almost ripping the fabric. Her heart beating wildly, she caressed her Knight out of his cocoon, and he quaked. In fact, he almost growled. Daenerys relished the adoration and the danger she saw then on Jorah’s features: the muscles of his jaw clenching, the line of his mouth hardening and his Adam’s apple bobbing. How beautiful he looked to her then and how she longed to pleasure him.

Exhaling, his self-control pushed to the limit, Jorah unlocked his eyes from Daenerys, and they both looked down, to contemplate the state of him.

_The glorious state of him_, Daenerys thought, her fingers traveling the full length of him. His strong shaft twitched more than once as she took her time caressing it, and its jolts of pleasure became hers. She licked her lips, moaning softly and then she began to shake, as much from desire as from fear because she was discovering anew how well-endowed her Knight was.

“Hush…,” Jorah dared whisper, pulling on her arm to get her to come closer still.

By the Gods, he was like a beautiful predator hypnotizing his prey, Daenerys thought, though she knew he loved her truly. But she also knew he was famished for her and she let the realization slicken her folds. She became the one quivering then, sensing Jorah guiding her body over his, and feeling his free hand sliding under her flowing robe. How sure and warm his caress trailing the smoothness of her skin. She had to breathe her Knight’s name on the deliciousness of it all.

Feeling emboldened once more, his heart having made the choice to act like a man in love, Jorah let his fingers glide between Daenerys’ naked thighs, to open them delicately. There were petals there to cherish and his breath caught when his fingers _slipped_ on the honey covering Daenerys’ secret lips.

“Khaleesi…”

Daenerys shivered deliciously feeling how creamy she was and, relishing the effect on her Knight, she slowly came to tower over him, to better offer herself to his ministrations.

Jorah did not waste a second. Scooping his Queen’s luscious rump with one hand, while twisting up the folds of her dress in the other, he pushed her mound to his mouth and let his tongue feast. Daenerys quaked and whimpered, and then moaned when, audaciously, Jorah lifted one of her legs to swiftly make her thigh straddled his shoulder. He devoured her then, rumbling against her folds, the softness of his lips and tongue so velvety in contrast to the coarseness of his beard on her tender thighs. Feeling herself pulsate, and pulsate some more, Daenerys almost came from the realization that her Knight was worshipping her so, kneeling in front of her, on top of the City that was now hers, her body offered to the wind and the night sky. She looked down and thrusted herself to her Knight’s mouth. How desired and empowered she felt in this instant, daring to look at Jorah pleasure her. Yet, just before her cresting reached a dangerous peak, she thwarted the wave come to engulf her and pulled back from his mouth. Not minding her Knight’s mournful rumble, she let her eyes fall once more on his manhood, so proudly erect between his open breeches. Her sex clenched seeing Jorah open his thighs and lift his crotch to welcome her. How taut and ready he was! Opening the folds of her dress, she told him to watch her. And he did, look at her lowering herself towards him, both of them anticipating the spearing to come. But nothing prepared Jorah for what his love whispered next, as she brushed herself on his flesh, her folds so swollen and slick with want:

“Make me feel you.”

Going straight to his cock, Daenerys’ words made Jorah grab her arms, to swing both her wrists to the small of her back and, kissing her hard, he hold her fast, a prisoner next to his heart, before claiming her with just one glorious lift of his hips. 

“Jorah!” Daenerys threw her head back, her voice almost a hiccup transforming into a wanton sound as she rolled her hips on her Knight’s long sword, to feel him deep and make _him _moan. She lusted for him so, she wanted it to hurt. Her wrists still pined to her back, just above the swell of her rump, she rode Jorah fast then, like an Amazon, feeling the length of him, feeling the width of him, and it burned her flesh. How hard he was and hungry for her, bucking into her until he freed her hands to use his to enfold her in his arms. Holding on for dear life, her fingers now intertwined in Jorah’s golden hair, Daenerys let herself pulsate on her Knight every time his hands on her hips and the small of her back helped her down on him, _forced_ her down on him. _Yesssss, just so._ _Ah!_ _My love!..._ She wanted to scream it, but no words were coming out of her mouth because Jorah was kissing her. All she could do was let her silky honey anoint him…

_How utterly, lusciously creamy Daenerys was, taking in the fullness of his cock_. The words were searing Jorah’s mind and the sound of their joining driving him wild. Having let Daenerys’ body fall back in his arms, while still straddling him, Jorah knew she could feel him reaching deeper within her and he knew she saw him bite his lower lip briefly, watching himself spear her, relishing how the breadth of him was making her whimper. If she lusted, so could he. He even slowed down their rhythm, to make her feel the hardness of him possessing her before picking up speed again, his amorous thrusts imperious. She crested beautifully relinquishing control and letting Jorah’s amorous whispers pool down on her skin until…

“Gods. Jorah. Please.”

“I’m here my love. Let go…”

Expertly, Jorah brought his thumb to Daenerys swollen honeyed pearl and, like a musician tenderly tuning a beloved instrument, he lavished on its delicious shiny nob the caresses it needed to implode. Which it did, on the last of his thrusts and brush. Daenerys’ breath caught then, and she threw her whole body back in the safety of Jorah’s embrace, a look of rapture transfiguring her regal features…

Just then, behind her flowing hair, shooting stars began to fall from the sky. Seeing the two simultaneously, Jorah’s breath caught too, and he reached for Daenerys, his eyes taking in the full beauty of the tableau before feverishly kissing her.

Daenerys kissed him back, as ardently and, though her flesh couldn’t take any more stimuli, she continued to rock her body on his. Her Knight was so erect still, the touch of him kept sending bolts of lightening up her spine, and she whimpered to let him know her queenly frustration: he should have come with her. Guessing her private thoughts, Jorah smiled as he came to taste her lips, softly.

“Khaleesi, the night is young… and your cry of pleasures have awakened the Perseid.”

Daenerys’ eyes widened on her Knight’s playful words and she looked up, a new kind of rapture illuminating her features. How beautiful she looked to Jorah with her face turned to the heavens and, within reach of his soft kisses, her breasts quivering. He splurged on them, and it made her instinctively roll her hips on the hardness of him while keeping her eyes on the falling stars.

_Gods!_ How good it felt…

When Daenerys turned once more to Jorah, she was smiling and there were tears in her eyes. Forgetting his throbbing desire, Jorah kissed her again tenderly.

“Come, my love, let me show you.”

On these words, Jorah gently departed from Daenerys’ folds, making her whimper sweetly., and then, but not for long as he made her sigh again by undressing her completely… while thudding against her. It couldn’t be helped, he loved her so and he had kept himself, to pleasure her some more. Seeing his manhood still wet with her opalescence, and its crown weeping drops of nectar, Daenerys _oohed_ the way one does upon seeing a forlorn pet, and she simply had to caress its shiny length again. Her touch jolted Jorah, just as he was beginning to tug on his breeches. Instinctively, he thrusted forward in his Queen’s welcoming hand but he simply had to halt her.

“My Queen…. The Perseid, remember?”

_What self-control_, Daenerys thought, the way one recognizes a challenge, but she let Jorah discard the last of his clothes himself, before lounging forward to claim his lips. Kissing Daenerys back, smiling, Jorah pulled her down to the silky bed, by laying her over him, her back to his torso. Though surprised at first, she soon marvelled at how wonderful it felt to sense Jorah’s strong body under her _petite_ form. She smiled taking in the whole of the celestial vault with its amazing show of shooting stars. Yes, she _had_ forgotten about the Perseid, but _oh_ how amazing they were!

While Daenerys was oohing in wonderment, Jorah was nestling cushions under his arm to better hold his Khaleesi’s head in the crook of his shoulder. Her naked form was over his, but angled, so his lips could kiss her temple while his gruff touched her cheek… and his hardness could snuggle between her thighs, next to the warmth and silkiness of her secret folds. Daenerys cooed, gently undulating, and Jorah sighed in pleasure while pulling the satin sheets over them. He smiled too when he felt Daenerys shiver with delight at the coolness of the fabric gliding over her skin. He held her fast, one of his hands possessively cupping one of her breasts, over the sheet, and he buried his nose in her neck when he sensed the bud underneath his fingers harden while her folds slicken anew.

Now who was in danger of forgetting about the Perseid?

“Oh Jorah, isn’t this magical?”

“Yes, it is… Khaleesi…”

The way he rumbled her title while gently thrusting his manhood along her creamy folds made Daenerys smile and rub her cheek against his gruff, like a cat would, amorously. She even dared venture her hand under the satin sheet to Jorah’s pulsating flesh, using her fingers to very delicately caress its crown, with her own honey, all the while whispering to her Knight to, please, tell her about the stars.

Oh, Jorah abided.

Breathing deeply, he took Daenerys’ free hand and pointed her finger to the heavens, tracing the outline of a flaring rectangle whose tail ended at a very bright star.

“Ursa Minor.”

“Mmmm…”

Pausing for a second, trying to control his breathing, because down below his Queen was keeping herself busy on his flesh, Jorah resumed the lesson, moving their hands to the left, towards a larger formation, in a cluster of stars: “Ursa Major.”

“Ursa,” Daenerys breathed, her light fingers still cajoling her Knight…. And then, suddenly realizing: “Oh! Ursa means ‘bear’,” her victorious understanding making her tingle and snuggle her profile next to her Knight’s. “All this time, I should have known,” she said. “You were watching over me from the heavens, weren’t you?”

“You know I was…” Jorah smiled, while thrusting gently into his Queen’s caress. “But I was also dallying with you.” 

_Just like you are now_, Daenerys thought with a purring sigh. Welcoming Jorah’s sensual swaying but still intrigued, she let him lift their hands once more, and he guided them over a serpentine line connecting to Ursa Major.

“Do you see it my love? Do you see how beautiful you are up there? The Queen of the Draco constellation.”

It took a second or two, mainly because the pleasure building in her loins was a distraction but, suddenly, Daenerys saw it: “Oh Jorah, it’s a dragon.”

“Yes…” Jorah sighed deeply, his cock suddenly penetrating her. Daenerys quivered with pleasure, loving the sudden ravishment while her gaze was turned to the constellations shining down on their lovemaking. Emotion constricting her throat, she rasped: “Oh my love, it is you and I, together.” She was moving now, meeting Jorah’s slow, amorous thrusts. “The Dragon and the Bear… I should… I should have known from the first. Did you?”

The answer came in the form of a caress; Jorah’s left hand pulling away the satin sheet and gliding along the softness of her skin until it twirled on her pearl.

“Of course, you knew,” Daenerys whispered then, hoarsely. “You’ve always known.”

“Since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Jorah…”

Her Knight’s words and his slow, imperious claiming sending shockwaves through her, Daenerys arched her back then, and… _Gods_, his cock so thick and hard gliding all the way in, and his large hands grabbing her hips to help her sustain the position: Daenerys found herself incapable of not whimpering wantonly to _yes, take me like that_, spurred on by Jorah’s hot whispers against her ear. And _that’s_ when she remembered!

…Being claimed by her Knight while her body felt thrusted forward. Be it over the ocean or towards the sky, the feeling was the same: she was remembering flying towards her destiny while Jorah made her crest. This was her dream, that gorgeous, overpowering dream of hers as Jorah’s maidenhead, while she was under the spell of Pyat Pree.

_It starts in pitch darkness. There is nothing to see but everything to feel and what I feel is the possession, the ram, the claim, in the very core of me, like there is no divide between my searing hot insides and my solar plexus, my heart!_

_I am the maidenhead of the ship taking us to Westeros…_

And this is how she felt now, in Jorah’s arms, as they were dallying under a cluster of stars unhooking themselves from their canopy to fall towards them. And she understood, without a shred of doubt in her mind, that they were indeed destined to be together, always. So, she murmured the words, making Jorah quiver from under her, with his breath, warm, on her neck, and his caressing hands holding her fast.

“I am the maidenhead which you are embracing, my love. You are the ship holding me forth, my back to your muscled core… and the waves of your thrusting are lifting me towards the swell of the sea, towards the heavens…”

“Daenerys…”

Moved beyond reason, Jorah moaned and buried his face in the mane of his Khaleesi’s hair, his hand now sliding through her opulent tresses, to cup her head and angle it, needing to kiss her swan’s neck, and lock in on her beating artery, while thrusting still. Impaling her.

“Jorah!”

Just like in her dream, Daenerys threw one of her arms behind Jorah’s head, to keep his lips to her skin, her fingers slipping through his ginger curls and tugging there, while she let the arch of her back swallow his cock.

_With each thrust, I move up the tidal wave and come crashing down, searing my lips, and making me froth all over your mast._

“I don’t want it to end...”

_… the possession, the claim. Yes, that song again, to the very core of me…_

“Then it won’t, Khaleesi.”

_Your voice, a feral velvet._

“I’ll make you soar. I’ll make you _come_ on me until there are no more stars in the skies but yours.”

Caressing Daenerys’ pearl in earnest, Jorah was now pressing on her mound to accentuate her counter thrusts, and each time their flesh collided, his deep, deep velvety rumble poured into her ear. Feeling herself possessed so while touching the stars, Daenerys began to whimper incoherent words of love until her Knight’s final plea.

“Daenerys, shatter for me…”

And she did. Beautifully. In multiple waves, her eyes to the sky and Jorah’s strong body lifting her, protecting her. Oh, what magic was this? No man had ever made her feel this way.

“I love you…” Jorah’s voice, his fervent whisper plunging deep in her soul: of course, _this_ was the magic, wasn’t it? His love and her willingness to experience it. The blossoming of her heart which never knew what true love meant before him…

Daenerys was tumbling back down to Earth and she realized she wanted this night to end drowning in Jorah’s eyes while he came undone. So, she freed herself of his embrace, not minding his desperate grunt, and rolling unto his body, she took him again while pressing her soft belly to his strong core.

_Gods_, Jorah thought! He almost came from the shock of feeling his Queen take him like this, so _tightly_, so completely. And she kissed him too, raking her fingernails down his taut pectorals, not missing the tiny pebbles which made him twitch and kiss her more ravenously. Coming up for air, Daenerys couldn't resist grinding herself wantonly on his glorious cock, relishing its size and how _hard_ he felt... until Jorah's hand came to grip the nape of her neck to pull her face to his. He was breathing so hard now, his eyes capturing hers, and his other hand sliding to her round bottom, to kneed her rump into his flesh. How savagely beautiful he looked to her then, wanting her so. And that's when she pleaded.

“Take me, Jorah, and come with me. Hard.”

The growl that left his lungs then was the most beautiful sound Daenerys ever heard, and she let herself melt in her Knight’s arms when he crushed her to him before turning her on her back. Sensing Jorah’s arm snaking its way around her waist, to lift her to him, for his ravishment, Daenerys once more felt herself jolting back in time, to the fever that held her captive, and the nightmare only her gallant Knight could turn into a dream.

_"Only you, my Knight."_

_I open my legs and you growl, low, letting your cock, so hard now, find its way along the wet folds of my skin. _

_Gods forgive us, we shouldn't want this, but another crack of the whip, and you push up my thigh with your bent knee. Your mouth is crushing mine, kissing me deeply and swallowing my cry as you fill me so completely. You take me and take me again, your buttocks contracting to push your cock deeper and anchor yourself where it feels so warm and wet. To steal me away._

There was no whip this time, no fear, no shame, just searing desire and irrepressible love and, once more, Daenerys thought she had never felt this safe or devoured by a more formidable force. She was tiny in Jorah’s strong embrace, his shaft never leaving the depths of her secret folds this time, as it plowed and plundered there, deeper still in a rolling motion, like waves brushing against her pulsating walls. He wasn’t going to hurt her, he would never do that but, by the Gods, he was making her _feel _him anew.

How delicious the almost desperate sounds leaving the depth of his chest as he kissed her, and bucked, his arm lifting her on every roll of his hips. He was possessing her like there was no tomorrow and she knew, she felt it at the impossible tautness of him that he was about to come for her, and that he’d bring her with him, again. There was no turning back. So, holding fast to Jorah and looking deep into his eyes, she gifted him the words he had told her in her dream:

“There is only us, my love! Only us!”

“Khalee—”

The last of her title got lost to bliss as they both soared with their cresting, breathing in each other’s moans, and kissing through the bolts of lightning coursing through their bodies. One last time, Jorah grabbed Daenerys’ hips and lifted her to him, his cock stilling deep inside her to pulse its release. He bit and sucked on her lips then, through the violence of his orgasm. Feeling her Knight's shaft throbbing savagely against her honeyed walls, Daenerys sobbed on his mouth, overwhelmed by the strength of his cock _and_ his love. Then, arching her back, she brought Jorah to her bosom and he kissed her there. Open-mouthed kisses reaching up to her throat, while he growled his love and final release, keeping her fast to him and rocking her through the last jolts of their pleasure.

When she was able to breathe again, Daenerys cradled Jorah’s face in her hands and brought him to her lips, calling him her beautiful… feral… golden… bear. Jorah blushed under Daenerys’ fingers and asked to be forgiven —_had he not gone too far_, _had he hurt her?; _ but he understood by her wanton humming and the butterfly kisses she lay on his chiselled cheeks and gruff, and his eye lids too, that there was nothing to forgive. He kissed her back, most tenderly this time, and then slowly rolled on his side, taking her with him. They remained like this, twinning, and cajoling, until a cooler breeze sent chills down Daenerys’ skin and Jorah pulled on the silky fabrics next to them to cocoon her to him. Daenerys purred inside his arms and, looking up towards the sky, was able to see once more their two constellations shining down on them. Those stars had not fallen.

“Jorah?”

“Yes, Khaleesi…”

“You were right.”

Intrigued, Jorah lifted himself on one elbow to peer down into Daenerys eyes, his hand caressing her cheek. She smiled, so completely in love.

“Though you are a Northerner… you are _not_ a wintery man.”

A low, velvety chuckle rumbled softly through Jorah's chest and, feeling Daenerys run her hands through his golden hair, he lowered his lips to hers, and warmed them anew.

***********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- “Though I am a Northerner, Khaleesi, I am no wintery man” is a play on words homaging a famous line in Arthur Miller's The Crucible (in which our muse IG gave the performance of a lifetime).
> 
> \- The poetry spoken by Jorah comes from The Cragsman’s Prayer by Donald Murray, an ode to Scotland's Outer Hebrides: http://mountaincoastriver.blogspot.com/2019/05/afloat-again.html
> 
> \- “Gods. Jorah. Please.” is a little wink to Chryssadirewolf's "God. Bruce. Please", itself an echo of the Thirst Bar's new motto: "God. Iain. Please." We are shameless Ids run amok.
> 
> \- And please excuse any typos or bizarre syntax as I needed to publish before Throughtheblue could finish proofreading. But I'll post an updated version when she's done..... A version I believe will also be graced with a second moodboard by Chryssadirewolf!


	3. ‘There was a flower that flowered inward…’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When rumors of unrest in Astapor and Meereen reach Ser Jorah, he anguishes over how Daenerys will receive the news, especially when he sees her blossoming into her new peaceful life in Qarth, and being so much in love. With him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Jorleesi tale takes place in an alternative version of GoT in which Ser Jorah and his Khaleesi get to stay in peaceful and hedonistic Qarth after their overthrow of its Lords and sorcerers. This said, love never comes easy. It wouldn't be a reward if it did, now would it ? Chapter 3 is self-enclosed and self-sufficient, as were chapter 1 and 2, though the story does unfold in time...
> 
> My affection and gratitude go towards @terisrog for her loving insistence, @bellahadar for the early spurring, @throughtheblue for the generous proofread, and @houseofthebear for the unflinching support! Also @chryssadirewolf and @itszulasworld for the amazing artworks!

** _‘There was a flower that flowered inward…’_ **

Jorah was standing on Daenerys’ private loggia, with his hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought. The view reached far, beyond the ramparts of Qarth, and unto the sea. He could swear he heard the fracas of swords and catapults and smell the residue of fire in the air… or was it the scorching smell of Drogon’s wrath? The dragon would not remain an infant for very long, and neither would his brothers.

There had been news of unrest in Astapor and Meereen. If the slaver Lords learned of Daenerys’ presence in Qarth… Nay, he corrected himself, if _she_ learned of slavers in these rival cities, those phantom smells would become a reality, and she’d put herself at risk and court danger. _And do it beautifully, of course,_ he scoffed, while closing his eyes, too tightly perhaps… Why was it so frightening to him, this thought of seeing his Khaleesi fulfill her destiny? Was it the fulfillment or the trying? Because, then, what if he failed her? What if he wasn’t enough?

_Valar Morghulis._

Yes, but what if death came for his Queen and he wasn’t quick enough to steer the horror his way?

His thoughts conflicted, Jorah’s proud shoulders tensed and then dropped, while his hip _stanced_ to better let him sigh, one of his thumbs rubbing at the palm of his other hand. His sword hand.

Khaleesi… 

_My love._

Of course, he would have to tell her what he’d learned and she’d…

Laughter interrupted his thoughts and he swung around, his stern expression mellowing upon seeing his Queen enter her apartments with her two handmaidens, each holding flowers and boxes wrapped in silk. Daenerys was giggling, elated from her visit to the open market surely, and she was whispering a secret to Irri that flustered the young woman when she saw her mistress’ proud Knight standing there. A bit comically, the girl swallowed her laughter and looked down, her change in demeanor making Daenerys turn her head to find the mood killer.

“Ser Jorah!” she exclaimed in mock formality. “I should have known.”

Handing her purchases to her second handmaiden, Daenerys couldn’t resist what came next, “Are you scowling?”

She was sashaying towards Jorah, drawing the light to her and, already, he could feel himself trying to suppress a smile.

“Scowling and scaring my handmaidens?”

He had to look away, sighing softly before the unleashing of tease and loveliness coming his way.

“Today of all days?”

She was standing in front of him now, a bit too close (_did her maids notice? should he care?)_ and he let himself gaze down into her beautiful violet eyes; her natural scent, as usual, intoxicating him.

“And what day would that be, Your Grace?” _Might as well capitulate and offer himself up willingly._

“Courtly Love Day.”

“Court—?...” There was no such day. “A long-standing Qarth tradition, I suppose?”

“No,” she smiled, tip-toeing to try to look him squarely in the eyes. “I made it up. And passed a decree.”

At that, Jorah couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking his head.

“Ah! Victory!” There were few things Daenerys relished more in life than breaking through her Knight’s barriers to make him smile. And seeing his face light up and surrender to levity, she smiled herself and lowered her voice, so only he could hear, “There, as it should be, sweet Ser.”

What a lovely whisper on the most luscious of lips, Jorah thought. For a second, he was sure Daenerys would kiss him, her eyes leaving his own to slip to his mouth. But then, quick as lightning, she retreated and twirled her way back to her handmaidens.

“And so, what news, pray tell, Ser Jorah?” She was opening her boxes of purchases, beautiful sheer fabrics lightly slipping through her fingers.“War, rampage, pestilence?”

“On Courtly Love Day?! I think not!”

Daenerys turned her head towards him then, and smiled frankly, letting go of her patrician pretenses.

News of Astapor and Meereen would wait. War could always wait when love was at the gate. Daenerys was offering him respite on a silver platter and, by the Gods, he would take it.

*********

“And then, she said…”

This day which had begun in such anguished thoughts was blooming into the loveliest of dream. Jorah was looking at Daenerys, sorting out which colorful fruit to put on their plates. She sat slightly across from him and though the whole of scintillating Qarth could be admired from the terrace, she was the only view he cared for. Servants had set up a table for them, near the day bed they knew so well, and arranged for a canopy of flowers and greenery to shield them from the sun and prying eyes. Jorah was drinking up his Khaleesi’s loveliness, and smiling at her gaiety. She seemed perfectly in tune with the joyous _brouhaha_ they could hear rising from the streets below, her features so animated as she was regaling him with… with gossip from the market. It was like a whole new world was opening up to Daenerys since their conquest of the merchant city. But it begged the question: had she _never _tasted simple joys and known true peace? She hadn’t, had she? Well, he would do everything —_everything_ to protect _this_. This smile of hers, and her light fingers arranging food like a work of art when they weren’t butterflying through the air. To that effect, Jorah had silenced one of his men and ordered him away with one glance when he had appeared on the terrace. Unbeknownst to his Queen.

One day. Could the Gods give them just _one_ day? Daenerys had willed the _fête_ of Courtly Love into existence and they were going to celebrate it in style.

“Do you remember that time in the Red Waste when you offered me a peach?” she asked, raising her eyes to him.

_How could he forget?_

Daenerys was presenting him with a fresh fig, cut in half, the tips of her fingers stained by the dark violet velvet of its skin and carmine of its juice. But it was that peach he was seeing once more, in his mind’s eye. That tiny, shriveled peach he had found in a dying oasis, but which still contained all the sun-kissed nutrients he hoped would soothe her, and nourish her, and caress her with sugars…

“I should have shared it with you, my bear.”

Jorah’s hand was cupping that of Daenerys and caressing it with his thumb, the fig awaiting his pleasure.

“It was too small, Khaleesi. And the gift of seeing you enjoy it was ample reward.”

“Yes, I seem to remember the juice of it trickling down my lips…” she smiled, moving her face closer to his, “…down on my chin, and further down still.” She was drowning in Jorah’s eyes and he in hers. “Yes,” she purred, “you must have enjoyed that very much.”

Smiling, Jorah didn’t take the bait; he took her lips.

Their embrace was as light as the breeze, and Daenerys felt its warmth and softness spread deliciously across her bosom. Breaking the tender kiss, she sighed, but kept her lips hovering close to Jorah’s.

“Ser Scratchybeard Sweetmouth,” she whispered, making him smile, “you’re not eating your fruit.”

“Oh, aren’t I?”

Laughing softly, Daenerys pulled back and lifted her hand again, offering up the two halves of her fig.

“_This_ fruit.”

Mock-serious, he tugged gently on her hand and then looked conspicuously at the offering.

“Be careful though,” she began in earnest, “it’s very tender, and I find that it works best if you very gently put your lips to…”

Daenerys’ voice trailed off seeing Jorah following her commands and then not needing them at all, his eyes lifting to hers with something like devilish mirth in them. Oh! He knew _exactly_ how to eat a fig, his tongue darting out to tease its juicy center before sucking on its flesh to free it from the velvety peel.

“Like this?” he managed to say.

“Mm-mm…”

It was usually _her_ inflicting the kind of erotic torment that left one wordless, but Daenerys wasn’t complaining. “Care for more?” she managed to breathe out.

“Always.”

Jorah, never letting go of Daenerys’ hand, brought the second morsel of fruit to his mouth, and did to it… _whatever_ he had known to do to the first. Daenerys felt her mouth open slowly, watching her handsome Knight work that fruit to make its flesh yield to him.

“Had much practice, have you?”

“Some, Your Grace.”

_Cheeky_. There was a tiny piece of fruit, glued in its syrup, on the rim of Jorah’s bottom lip --quite captivatingly so…

“On Bear Island?”

“Figs rarely make it that far North, Khaleesi.”… That little morsel, Daenerys started to move her free hand to steal it from Jorah’s lip, but he was quicker and very impishly used his tongue to snatch it.

“In Essos then?” Her eyebrows furrowed.

Sucking lightly on his thumb, before licking his other fingers clean, Jorah hummed a noncommittal answer.

“At the Khalasar?!” she asked, straightening her back, yet trying very hard not to sound imperiously miffed.

“Never!”

Deftly, Jorah grabbed Daenerys’ hand, which had held the fig, and bringing her palm to his lips, began to kiss it tenderly.

“The only fruit I would have wished for at the Khalasar,” he whispered, in his low rumble, between kisses to suckle any juice left on Daenerys’ skin “…was not mine to covet, my Queen!”

She could have smirked, but Daenerys smiled a true smile before getting flustered, because she believed him. Whichever wench, grateful damsel in distress or experienced Lady had taught or enabled her gallant Knight to perfect his knowledge of intimate arts, before meeting her, she decided to silently thank.

“Daenerys,” Jorah was suddenly very near her and no longer a Knight, “are you blushing?”

“Am I? I never blush. I’m… I’m quite sure of it.”

His eyes, so blue, were shining in the shadows of the canopy and specks of light were catching the gold in his hair and cheekbones. She held her breath as his fingers delicately brushed away a strand of her silver tresses which the wind kept blowing to her lips.

“Then what is this bloom, on your skin so fair, that alights my heart, and makes me despair?”

_Was this poetry? It was, wasn’t it?_

“Jorah…” Oh, his lips were now brushing her cheek, the tips of his fingers trailing down the delicate skin of her neck… “When I rule the Seven Kingdoms…” His fingers stopped suddenly, on her words. _No, not yet my love,_ _please_…

“When I truly become Queen and…” _Better_, because she was already queen of his heart and so, there was no need for bloodshed and dragons’ shrieks and mangy, severed, rotting limbs, to…

“And there are Ladies holding court with me, you won’t…” Her clavicle, her breast, _let me lose myself in your flesh…_

“I mean, Courtly Love does not entail… does not prescribe… _Jorah…_” His lips in the crook of her neck, burning there, one hand lifting the mane of her hair to better kiss her, the other unveiling and teasing her nipple…

“Courtly Love, tell me,” she sighed, trying to keep her composure, “I only know it from the books you gave me and...” _Ohhhhh what was he doing to her? Being with Drogo was never, never like this..._ “You won’t, as a Knight…” _My love_, “You won’t act like this with… with all of them, will you?”

She was in his arms suddenly, swept off her feet, to the foot of the day bed, her lips not hers anymore to form words with.

“Not unless you command me to, Your Grace,” Jorah answered, breaking the kiss, and adding huskily, “No, I shan’t kiss them… nor lay them down just so…”

_Oh Gods, he was seducing her, in broad daylight._ Daenerys felt herself tumble gently on the silky bed as Jorah’s hand cast aside the fabric of her dress.

“And I won’t tease their bosom," he was caressing her, his eyes predatory, "nor taste the suppleness of their flesh, nor…” His fingers having trailed all the way down to her silver curls, he paused and smiled upon the discovery there. “_Ahhh yes_… nor taste their sweet, sweet nectar…”

His sigh then, very near a growl, made Daenerys moan and roll her hips to beg for more friction.

“Rest easy, my Queen, I shall not feast on them!”

He was caressing her and making her crest, all the while peering down on her face, to see pleasure transfigure her features, his whispers, mischievous. “Unless you wish me to. Because you could, of course, ask it of me, and I would have to obey. I would have to ravish them...”

_Oh Gods, she was throbbing, and still he went on…_

“…I would have to make them surrender. And part their thighs…” he whispered, looking at his fingers, covered in opalescence, as they swirled their way over Daenerys’ unhooded pearl. Then he reached deeper, before lowering his mouth to Daenerys’ ear. “And I would have to make them moan my name in ecstasy…”

“Jorah!" _Her sex was coming undone._ One hand twisted in her Knight’s curls, she was thrusting down on his masterful hand, half-closing her eyes: "Hush!” she commanded, "...and make your Queen soar!”

And he did, with just a flick of his thumb, the blue of his eyes and the warmth of his voice.

*********

_This was so good. This would never end, would it?_

Daenerys turned her head to kiss Jorah’s lips, using her mouth and tongue to secure him to her, the same way she was willing his cock to chain her to him.

They had never left the daybed. All afternoon he had written love sonnets on Daenerys’ skin with his tongue and his fingers. When he wasn’t feeding her lovely morsels dipped in wine, she daydreamed of how life would be in Westeros. _Their_ life, like those of her subjects. Jorah listened and acquiesced, indulging her. He could have listened to her for hours. The sunbeams slipping through the canopy playing on her skin. The sweetly nonchalant way she let him caress her. It felt to him like this was the month of May, playing his Queen like a celestial instrument, the vibrations light as feathers, the melody that of her cresting and delicate succumbing. Daenerys’ climaxes under the jasmine canopy were all softness and dew, and cooing and mewls, and now, in the middle of this lazy, hazy sunny afternoon, Jorah was holding her in his arms, as they lay on their sides, her back to his strong chest… while she creamed his cock, with lavishment, with ravishment, drawing from him velvety growls and sighs. Pulling back, and delicately lifting Daenerys’ inner thigh, he could see his engorged crown meeting the sweet resistance of her dripping lips, before slipping in, hard as bronze and thick with want. She’d let him reach deep, telling him to, until rumbling hungrily, he’d reached deeper still, surprising her. He would confess to feeling all mighty then, leaving her all a quiver, under his gaze. She was so beautiful then, moaning through the yielding of her flesh. And every time his cock kissed her anew, getting impossibly harder, she’d rasp his name and he’d answer in turn, “Yes, feel me, Khaleesi…”

Oh! She would never, ever tire of feeling him possess her so while susurrating her title. Only Jorah could call her thus and make it sound like a promise of rapture. And it was like a rapt, a willing one, feeling his tense cock having to halt before pushing through. She was so tight and succulent, they couldn’t hide the music their flesh made. That _sugere_ sound, the feeling of him straining the petals of her folds, his shaky breath every time he’d feel her flutter, it made her arabesque towards him, their _pas-de-deux_ dripping honey all over the sheets. She smiled, victorious, hearing her Knight grit his teeth on that spectacle and even more so when he growled upon seeing her arched away from him, to present him with her heart-shaped romp. His strong hands left her hips then to glide on the small of her back, and Daenerys moaned when she felt Jorah’s thumbs pushing on her dimples to better angle his claiming.

Oh, how he quenched her thirst for lust then! Just by the incoherent words leaving his lips and the renewed music their flesh was suddenly making, she guessed, no she was sure, he was once more looking at himself disappear in the secret of her. This was enough to make Daenerys soar, usually, but she didn’t want their lovemaking to end. And Jorah knew just how to make it last, taking it implacably slow but making sure she felt how hard he was, and telling her so, while she teased her pearl. She was cresting once more, by increments, waves rising but never breaking, so delicious it made her giggle seductively on Jorah’s mouth, as she reached over her shoulder for him once more. She was so wanton, he just had to bite her lips, and ram himself a bit faster, a bit harder, almost forgetting himself and the rules of their hedonistic dalliance. Oh! But there was a reward for his patience: rivulets of milky honey come to lick his shaft, the likes he had never seen nor tasted before. And he did taste her, his hand dipping to her folds to lift a sliver of cream while never ceasing to spear her. She heard him hum and lick his fingers and then dip his hand once more. She felt him look for honey on her lips; she imagined him swiping cream beneath his crown as it teased her lips, churning honey, and freeing it so he could feast on it. Oh! her gorgeous hungry bear!

“Jorah…”

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you come with me now?”

“Just say the word…”

A throaty mewl leaving her lips, Daenerys guided Jorah’s hand to her pearl, so swollen and slick, it made him growl in her ear and caress her roughly. She gasped, lightning seizing her core, and she arched her back even more, throwing her freed hand behind Jorah’s head to intertwine her fingers through his curls. Impaling herself more deeply on Jorah’s imperious cock, she thrust and thrust back towards him while tugging on his hair like she’d done with a wild stallion’s mane. She heard him invoke the names of the Gods under his breath and he met her rhythm, never ceasing to caress her until he felt her core pulsate on his burning shaft. He heard her moan his name again and he growled hers, grabbing her mound to bring her to him, his breath catching on the strength of his release, the powerful throbbing echoing that of his love. 

Daenerys could not have said what happened next because slumber took hold of her. She remembered groggy kisses on her swan-like neck and shoulders, and then something delicious, a warm cloth soothing her sensitive folds.

“Jorah?”

“I’m here Khaleesi. Rest now…”

“Is it still Courtly Love Day?”

Daenerys’ sleepy, silly question made Jorah laugh softly on the grain of her skin, and he shushed her to sleep.

**************

** _‘…Till the drop of ripeness exudes’_ **

** **

It was dusk when she woke, and Jorah was not by her side.

He wasn’t because, as soon as she had fallen asleep, he had covered her with the most delicate of silks, and ushered himself down into the palace for a quick change before meeting with his new Qarth seconds. His men could now confirm the rumors from Astapor and Meereen. The slaver Lords had learned of Daenerys’ take-over of their jeweled city.

“And how goes the construction of our fleet?”

With their spoils of war, Daenerys had ordered that ships be made for them to sail to Westeros, which was their ultimate goal and, quite literally, her Promised Land. But this endeavor took time. And it seemed that, maybe, they were running out of it. He would have to tell her. He knew he did. But he had to calm this feeling of dread he felt in the pit of his stomach in order to find the right words for it.

Dismissing his lieutenants, Jorah pored over his maps of Essos and Slaver‘s Bay, letting his hand run on the parchment of the largest one of them, across the sea… all the way to Dragonstone, where he settled Daenerys’ three-headed dragon chess piece. He squinted at it, biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes gliding to King’s Landing. And then, tentatively, almost shyly, he looked up to find Bear Island. The map artist hadn’t even known how to draw it properly and yet, Jorah reached for it, caressing it with his fingers. _Home. _But was it even his anymore? And, more importantly, would it, _could it_, ever be hers?

Jorah paused then, and dared think the unthinkable: did they even need this quest, imprisoned in geographical and political constructs? 

_Home_. He knew what it meant to him, now. He knew its name. He could conjure up every valley and soft downs, its rosy peaks and active volcano. He knew its skies were violet and its landscape covered in silver threads. He had found his home in Daenerys, but had she found hers in him? It seemed not. _Alas, it seemed not._ Was that what was ailing him?

_When I take the Seven Kingdoms, I need you by my side._

He could still see her say it, her smile beaming, when she’d stood proudly with him on the ramparts of Qarth, looking towards the horizon. He could remember her whispering it, in the middle of the night, just before surrendering to slumber, her lips so soft next to his ear. And she would, at times, moan that very summon, just before soaring in his arms. Recollecting that very memory, Jorah had to close his eyes suddenly and swallow hard.

How dare he dream of a peaceful life with her on Bear Island? No, surely, the thought had never _really_ entered his mind. She was a conqueror, and he loved her for it. His sword was hers, as was his life and, by the Gods, of course, he was going to help her fulfill her destiny! And he would let no one, _no one_, least of all these arrogant slavers harm one single strand of her…

“Jorah?! W-what…?”

Jorah was startled out of his anguished stream-of-consciousness by Daenerys’ disappointed voice. He turned to her at once, straightening up, his hand pushing the map showing Bear Island under rolls of parchment.

There she was, a silver-blonde waif of a dragon, standing in his doorway, looking forlorn and tiny inside the silky lengths of her makeshift dress, fashioned from the silky covers on which they had made love. One of her hands was bunching the fabric over her bosoms and the other she waved through the air to mimic her discombobulation before settling it on her hip, to stance like the best of them. That is, him.

“What are you doing? You left me all alone!”

Whatever clouds had begun setting on Jorah’s thoughts seemed to part, looking at his love, caught between being a formidable Khaleesi … and a young pouting bride. _Oh Gods, had he just used these terms in his mind?_

“I had to change.” He tried not to wince at that less than brilliant retort.

“Why?”

_Right._

“I was called away, Daenerys … traders needing safe passage to Asshai.” _Why was he lying to her?_

She was walking briskly towards him and he found himself meeting her halfway, to stop her from seeing the maps on his table. _He would regret this. _But he found himself seizing her shoulders gently before smiling softly into her stormy eyes. _Gods, she still smelled of fresh air and love. He would never, ever, be able to tell her of the slavers…_

And so, he lied again.

“I didn’t want to wake you. Certainly not to entertain sweaty, ugly, greedy merchants on this, your… Courtly Love Day.” She shot him a look. “And waking you would have ruined my surprise.”

This, however, was the truth. Sweeping Daenerys in his arms and kissing away her little yelp of surprise, Jorah carried her through a small door at the end of his study. It opened on his own private bath chambers in which a brass basin, filled to the brim with warm milky water, was awaiting them. Or rather, awaiting her, his love and Khaleesi. He had lit desert lanterns and small scented oil lamps diffusing neroli and amber. Daenerys oohed her appreciation.

“Am I forgiven, Your Grace?”

Jorah was using his _Jorah voice_ on her, Daenerys was no fool, but … it did work. _Every time._ And so, still eyeing him sternly, she let the corners of her mouth turn into a tiny smile and then she leaned in to kiss her Knight, very softly. Pulling back, she brushed her nose on his, whispering and kissing him again.

“Does this bath chamber come equipped with a manservant to help me bathe?”

“Of course.”

“Because if I’m left all alone, who knows what could befall me.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” Jorah was meeting Daenerys’ playfull tone, but the words were resonating someplace that hurt. He was so deadly afraid to lose her. But he let her continue.

“No, indeed. Because every time I bathe alone, I end up dreaming of a certain Knight pleasuring me and…”

“Wait! Do I know this Knight?”

“Undoubtedly. But you shall best him, I have no fears…”

_Yes, he would have to best himself._

Smiling, Daenerys kissed Jorah more possessively and, finding her foothold as he set her down, she took a few steps back before untying the silky linens covering her. They pooled down at her feet in a cascade of soft susurrus, and she smiled seeing Jorah’s Adam apple bob painfully in his throat.

She looked like a Goddess. _She was a Goddess._ Jorah couldn’t even remember the notions he had dared entertain in his study. He would give her that throne if it was the last thing he ever did.

“My Queen…”

Daenerys tilted her head and almost chuckled, her smile tender as she raised her arm to call Jorah to her.

“My love, you look like you were about to kneel. Come to me!”

But her smile wavered once Jorah stood in front of her, looking down into her eyes with a strange fire.

“Daenerys, I…”

He was standing so close to her she could feel the warmth emanating from his body and yet, it was as if he did not dare raise his hands to her. It made her dizzy, like she didn’t recognize him anymore.

“Jorah?”

His eyes glided to her lips and she saw his chest heave.

“There’s something I must…”

“Yes?...” He was almost panting, and it was excruciating for her, to be naked in front of him, and feel his whole being vibrate next to hers while sensing this sudden barrier between them.

“Jorah,” she whispered sweetly “please touch me.”

The words barely leaving her mouth, she felt herself being pulled to her Knight, one of his hands cupping her head while he lowered his to kiss her. Her naked flesh collided with his leather armor in ways that ignited her and made her slick with want again. He was crushing her, and she never wanted their kiss to end, her whole body, her soft naked skin, brushing itself on the harshness of his apparel. It was making her crest already, just like Jorah’s desperate, hot whispers against her mouth.

“Daenerys … do you forgive me?”

_Of course, she did. She wasn’t really angry with him! Did he think … ? Oh Jorah!_

“Let me worship you, please … ”

Oh! she knew what this meant, and she had to hold on to him, because her whole body seized with the knowledge of what he meant to do to her. And as she looked up into his eyes, parting her lips, Jorah understood that she was giving him leave to do as he wished. The next second, she felt herself being lifted in his arms and then swooshed down on a lounge chair next to the bath, Jorah kissing her deeply. From cupping her face tenderly, he let his hands trail down her neck, and then her shoulders and arms until, brushing past her wrists, he intertwined his fingers in hers to snake them to the small of her back. He then kneeled in front of her and tugged on her hands to raise her mound to his lips and gruff, making Daenerys sigh his name hoarsely. _Oh!_ the feeling of his warm breath and ravenous mouth on the flowering of her sex, the way he latched onto her glistening lips! Daenerys was so aroused already, knowing Jorah could taste how creamy he made her, that she pushed her lips to his, hoping to be devoured. _Gods_, she was not going to last! He was … he was feasting on ‘_her brave adventurous flesh, the inward fruit of her sex, her honied rosaceae_,’—his words, whispered in her ear, when he’d steal her away for a few precious moments, in shaded alcoves, in their stables, in the flowered cloisters of Qarth, and now… now he was asking for more.

“My Queen, you’re so, so very sweet, so very wet for me…”

He always knew just what to say, and how; his modulations, divine. He could have made her climax just by the timbre of his voice. But when his tongue and his suckling lips joined in this conquest, she felt so exposed, so offered, so totally his, all she could do was relinquish and moan freely. She knew what this meant, what this could provoke in her body, this craving for abandon. She was going to ‘_burst into affirmation’_ and come on his mouth. She would not be able to refrain the blissful billowing of it. How it scared her! How it _excited_ her.

“Jorah, it’s too good. Stop, I…”

“Love, you know I want it…”

And so, Daenerys surrendered and felt herself fountain her pleasure into her Knight’s feral growl, his fingers squeezing her hands and lifting her to his mouth. He wanted it all and so she surged again, and thrice more, her thighs shaking across his strong shoulders.

Daenerys was still mewing, and trying to catch her breath, when her orgasm ceased to blind her. Softly, she sighed too, feeling Jorah very delicately licking, from her inner thighs, the milky way she had gifted him. He was kissing all of her, clean. This man… _This man_, what had she done to deserve such a treasure? Daenerys’ heart was still pounding in her chest when she called Jorah to her, her small breasts quivering from her panting. When he released her hands and his face appeared above hers, she threw her arms around his neck and let out a short sob before kissing him passionately.

“I love you, Jorah. Do you hear me? I love you … ” she kept breathing on his lips between her kisses.

“Daenerys … ”

She was still kissing him, tasting her essence on his lips, when she felt herself being pulled up and carried into the warm water. She shivered in delight, the contrast delicious, and she let go of her Knight only reluctantly. When he finished settling her down gently, he kissed her long, while her hand caressed his gruffy profile and twirled its way into the curls of his hair.

“Is this to your liking my Queen? Is the water warm enough?”

“W-what?...”

Jorah smiled into Daenerys’ eyes, rather proud to see her so dazed and satiated. A goddess loved him. What else could he ever want or need?

Getting rid of some layers of his leather armor, Jorah bathed his love sensually and relished feeling her limbs relax. No words were exchanged, just the echoey sounds of droplets and the distant rumor of the city mingled with soft sighs. These were much closer to Jorah’s ears, especially when his lips would replace the sponge on his lover’s silky skin.

“Will you bathe me like this when I am very old and shriveled?”

Jorah held his breath, Daenerys’ words blooming in his chest (_was she truly seeing them together for all time?) _yet he barely broke his stride, and hid how moved he was with jest.

“When you are ‘very old and shriveled,’ Your Grace, I shall be ancient.”

She put her hand on his, hearing those words, and she turned to look him in the eye. “Of course you won’t, Jorah. You shall forever be my Golden Knight.”

That made him swallow hard and his smile wavered with emotion.

“Daenerys … ” he managed to whisper.

“I trust you with my life, you know this, don’t you? I will forever be safe if you remain by my side.”

“Then I swear to you, it is where you will always find me.” Oh, how brilliant his blue eyes shone in the semi-darkness, like sapphires seeing through her very soul as he pledged himself anew.

“Say it … ” she nuzzled close to his cheek.

“What?”

“You know what … ”

He smiled before whispering on her lips, “Khaleesi … Khaleesi … ” like the warmest of desert breezes.

Daenerys cooed and enjoyed the rest of her bath in silence, sometimes knowing just how to elicit deep rumbles out of her bear when she’d naughtily arch her back for him to nibble on a rosy nipple, or when she’d wet his shirt, her dripping fingers running through the golden fur on his chest peeping through his open collar.

When it came time for her to dress, Jorah helping her dry her skin, she giggled suddenly.

“Jorah, I have nothing to wear!”

Daenerys bit her lip in this adorable way she had sometimes, and he smiled, refraining from telling her how well that would suit him. Instead, he bowed his head and asked her which dress he should fetch for her.

Jorah left his quarters with a spring to his gait, rather amused at playing handmaiden to his Queen, but when the task proved to be harder than he anticipated (how does one differentiate between cerulean blue and midnight blue?), he came back holding two different but equally alluring dresses. He was still peering at them when he stepped back into his study … and was halted by Daenerys’ voice.

“What is this?” She was standing next to his worktable, her fingers touching the maps he foolishly left there. “Jorah? I asked you a question. What is the meaning of this?”

She was naked, glowing preternaturally in the shadows of his study, her chin lifted to him.

She would never, ever need armor. The way she looked just now, whole armies could grovel at her feet. Jorah stood his ground though but remembered, quite distinctly, that his lies would come back to haunt him.

“Your Grace…”

Slowly he approached her, not knowing what to do anymore with the dresses draped around his arms. With one swift movement, and without breaking eye contact with him, Daenerys unburdened Jorah of his offerings, wrapping herself in the darkest garment while simply discarding the other away from her. She was shaking with indignation and, secretly, with something else, something that hurt more. When Jorah bowed his head, she forced herself to look at the chess pieces laid out in a battle plan. She was about to speak again when Jorah broke the silence first.

“The Lords of Astapor and Meereen have learned of your presence. And that of your dragons. They are _slavers_, Khaleesi, and they hunger for power.” His voice was steady but chastised.

“And when were you going to tell me all this?”

Jorah wasn’t answering her and so she turned to him. Her eyes locking with his, emotion gripped her. She only had to look at him to understand. What came next, he did not foresee.

“I left you little choice, didn’t I?” she sighed.

Such understanding suddenly. No imperial fit, just wisdom beyond her years, a whisper of self-derision … and love. It broke Jorah’s heart. He would have rather seen her curse him. He deserved it. So, he found himself telling her the truth, in simple terms.

“I couldn’t find the words, nor the right moment. You were so happy. _I_ was so happy … It felt like the right thing to do, to keep war at bay.” And then, his voice softening, “For just a few hours, my Queen.”

She smiled sadly, looking up into his eyes. Had she been a Knight, a Knight in love, she would have done the same. Her whisper was very soft and forlorn when she raised her hand to cup Jorah’s cheek.

“I guess this is it then. Courtly Love Day is over?”

He smiled sadly too, taking her hand in his and kissing her palm with fervor.

“But it was beautiful, wasn’t it?” she added.

“Aye.” He breathed the word, drawing Daenerys close, to welcome her next whisper.

“And now you’ll need to see your men and leave me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“If you give me leave, Your Grace, yes. Just for a short while. I need to secure the City.”

Her hands spreading on Jorah’s strong chest, she felt his heart; this heart that beat for her.

“And who will protect me while I sleep?”

She kept invoking his darkest fears, even in jest. Her true smile was back, and he couldn’t let on. His fear of failing her, of losing her, he could not share with her.

“Your dragons will protect you, Khaleesi … as will my love.”

She shook her head gently, a tender smirk illuminating her features.

“The dragons will keep to their cages, if you promise to come back and guard my bed.”

“It shall be so, my Queen.”

And so, Ser Jorah left Daenerys to the good care of her handmaidens, ending the day almost the same way it had begun … and he would not rest until he was sure his manoeuvering could buy them enough time to either sail to Westeros or take on their adversaries.

Wearing his leather armor once more, Jorah felt his resolve strengthening and his jaw tighten as he sheathed his sword in its peacock scabbard. His hand was gripping its handle when he entered his men’s mess hall.

************

That very night, Daenerys felt Jorah wake up with a start.

And then, the following second, his breathing … and the way he turned on himself to seek her out, told her it had to be a nightmare.

“Jorah?”

He had been away a long time and she had barely awoken when he slipped next to her. She just remembered smiling in her sleep and purring from the warmth of him spooning her. But now, he was out of breath and heaving, as his large hand came up to touch her face feverishly.

“Daenerys …” His voice broke. “I …” His breath caught in his throat, unable to finish his sentence. In the moonlight, he looked like he was drowning.

“Jorah, I’m here, I’m fine, I’m …” It was she, this time, whose words got crushed, but by his lips. A kiss so ravenous, it made her heart jump in her chest and her body seize under her lover’s. He was suffering through his hungry kiss, sucking on her lips, biting them, then parting from them just long enough to press his open mouth to the artery beating on her throat. He felt her blood pulse there, and he moaned, the sound almost that of a sob, before coming back to her lips to claim them savagely again, not letting her speak, not letting her think. But she had to stop him, just for a second! This was madness.

“Jorah!”

He pulled from her, just enough for her to see his eyes, wild with fear, wild with love.

“Tell me … ” she insisted.

But Jorah just shook his head, not wanting to voice out the dream that had gripped him, the nightmare he had kept at bay all day and which he thought his springing into action had squashed. His rational self knew Daenerys was safe, but his demons would not let him be. The love of his life was in his arms, he could feel her and yet he couldn’t quite believe it. He needed to make sure.

Daenerys felt Jorah’s hand slip through her hair, to cup her nape. He was going to kiss her again. “Khaleesi …” It was like a desperate prayer, her title on his lips, before he came down again to drink the breath from her. And then she felt it, his cock, so impossibly hard and warm, pressing on her soft belly. His knee pushed one of her thighs apart, and his hips began to roll towards her in tune with his tongue exploring her mouth, to rouse her and meet his need. His desire to feel her _alive_.

His hands were all over her at once and plying her to him. Daenerys could hardly move, caught in her lover’s tempest. This was Jorah undone. Not the passionate but attentive and expert lover she knew, not even the bear. Just this formidable mass of manly desire and aching love hurling through space and come crashing on her. He was going to devour her, consume her until maybe, he thought, they’d be just one.

“Jorah… please!”

“No!” Such despair in his voice, and love in his eyes. Daenerys was almost scared, feeling Jorah’s heart pounding on her breast, and in his manhood, so desperate for her, yet not daring to find its way to her core. He could have, though. Oh! _He could have _… It would be so easy for him. Daenerys let her hand slip to his cock, and Jorah moaned in her ear, his face burying itself in the crook of her neck.

Seizing him, she felt him pulsate and had to whisper again,“Tell me … ”

“I … ” he panted. “I need … ” But the words died on his lips, because he felt Daenerys’ hand, like a flame, caressing the whole length of him and he was going to lose his mind.

“What do you need my love? No more secrets. Jorah, _tell me _… ”

But Jorah could barely hear her. Daenerys’ fingers were following the vein pulsating on his shaft, and then her fingertips slipped off the dew oozing from the tip of his crown. She twirled the liquid iridescence on his taut skin and he grit his teeth. She was edging him and he felt himself slip between agony and ecstasy.

“Daenerys stop … ” He was kneading her mound now, unable to suppress his rutting along the slickness of her lips.

_Oh Gods_, she thought, he had never been this hungry, this feverish! Of course, she was _not_ going to stop.

“Jorah, tell me what you need.”

Her words made him grunt hotly, “Khaleesi…” And they made him roll his hips. “I need … ” And Daenerys got her answer in the sudden, hard twitching in the palm of her hand, before the words reached her in a scorched whisper.

“I need … to take you.”

_There my love,_ her whole body screamed, as it lifted towards him. Moaning her acquiescence, Daenerys opened herself to Jorah, making him growl her surrender to his passion, and his name caught in her throat when she felt the full breadth of him penetrate her. Every time was like the first time.

How warm and so very slick she was for him, it made Jorah swear under his breath. He was going to take her deeply, and he wasn’t going to do it slowly, not this time. No, this time, he’d ram her like waves come crashing, and drink her long shaky moans. But when his eyes locked with hers, Daenerys almost sobbed seeing the wild expression in them pleading for her forgiveness.

Oh, of course, this was not how it usually was between them. This afternoon and so many nights before, Jorah had worshipped her slowly, his mouth on her secret lips and pearl, to make her come, again and again, before even presenting her with his cock. Offering himself, as it were, because he derived pleasure from hers. He only lived to serve her, it never ceased to amaze her. But Jorah woke the dragon in her. Couldn’t he tell she wanted him just as fiercely? Whatever fear his nightmare had plagued him with, she would squash it. If he needed mooring, she would be there. She was not going to disappear. She would not abandon him. She loved him.

She lifted her mouth to his ear while meeting his thrusts.

“I _want _you to take me.” It made him moan and pound her. “I _want _your cock to make me come. And I want you to claim your pleasure.” He growled at this and pulled back, formidable over her, his eyes turning from blue to feral black. His strong frame, his chest heaving, such a beautiful Beast… She ran her fingernails on his pectorals, through the fur there, and it made his mouth come crashing on hers. Oh! Thank the gods for his kiss. It swallowed her screams as she felt her hips and core being lifted from the bed to meet Jorah’s long sword. He was going to spear her and there would be nothing left of them but searing pleasure.

And that’s when she found him again. Regardless of his feverish state, Jorah slowed his claiming, just enough to make her feel his movements become purposeful, masterful. He was pulling her hips to his as he kept thrusting into her, squatting up from his knees: he _was_ going to make her come on his cock. _Oh Gods_, the rush of wetness she felt coating his thick, priapic length; the way he clenched his jaw, and opened his mouth looking at her quivering body, devouring her with his eyes while claiming her. Hard. She heard his breath change, like a rumble come from the very center of him, deep, so deep, letting her know of his own pleasure. When he dared steal a glance at their joining flesh, growling lasciviously, it made her arch her back and her insides begin to throb.

“I felt that, love …” His voice, his coarse whisper, they made her throb anew. “Give me more.” _Oh Gods …_

“Jorah … Don’t stop … I …”

“Make me feel you, Daenerys,” _his voice_ as he squared his jaw_._ “I need you to claim my cock … ” _She would have to scream, she would, oh god_. “I need you to come for me.”

And those words made her soar, seizing Jorah’s length with honeyed walls pulsating so violently he let out a powerful growl before ramming himself in the very depth of her, to throb his own release while pulling his Queen to him, again and again.

“Daenerys …”

It seemed to last forever, the strong powerful contractions of his shaft and his beautiful throaty grunts until, all of a sudden, it was over, and she felt completely covered and surrounded by the smell and strength and love of Jorah’s arms and flesh, all of him beating like a heart, all around her. He was holding her close, her thighs still raised on his crouching form, while his sweaty torso covered her breasts, slippery with her own sheen. His hands running up her back and through her long hair, Jorah’s mouth began to kiss her all over, still ravenous but tender too… and it made her coo.

“My love, I beg you … no more …”

“I can’t stop.”

“Your Khaleesi orders it.” _It was worth a try._

“I don’t care.”

“Oh Jorah … ”

She laughed softly, waiting for the passion to subside or alight her anew…

It would be days and weeks before Jorah was able to tell her of his nightmare. Well, not all of it; it was impossible for him to put into words the horror of losing her. Because the words would make it so somehow. They would breathe the possibility of it into the concrete world and that would not do. But Daenerys didn’t need _words_ to understand her Knight’s anxieties. Her love for him knew to be patient too. She found subtle ways to make him realize that they were equals in her endeavor to fulfill _their_ destiny and build _their_ home. Whichever form it took. He need not take on more than his share of their quest… and when the nightmares came back, Daenerys learned to soothe them away, inviting Jorah to her breast, where her heart beat steady. Running her fingers through his hair, she made him speak of Bear Island. Because, of course, she longed for it too. It became their safe place, their dream palace … and a secret strong enough to fight the darkest of nightmares.

Oh, and Daenerys also made sure her Knight never needed nightly terrors again to confess, without shame, those times when he _just had to take her._ Because she was truly his. Reborn into his arms. Each time. For all time.

************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter and the poetic words Daenerys attributes to Jorah in single brackets are taken from D.H. Lawrence's amazing poem, 'Figs.' Its fragrance permeates the whole chapter.
> 
> https://kalliope.org/en/text/lawrence2001061702


	4. Time After Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In their dreamy palace, Jorah and Daenerys savor their time in Qarth before the Mother of Dragons has them sailing away to free the Slavers' Cities of Essos. 
> 
> Though there are no more blue-tongued wizards confusing the lovers’ minds, Qarth continues to murmur to their souls and cast its spell upon them, the heady atmosphere of the City intoxicating them. Especially Daenerys, when her Knight, so seldom loquacious, disarms her with poetry in that deep velvet voice of his: "Let me feast on your brave adventurous flesh, the inward fruit of your sex, Daenerys. Give me your honied rosaceae…,’—his words, when he steals her away for a few precious moments, in shaded alcoves, in their stables, in the flowered cloisters of Qarth…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, this new chapter, as all chapters in this series, can be enjoyed as a stand-alone, this one subdivided in 3 parts, each with its own illustration by @chryssadirewolf, and one by @throughtheblue (her first! so proud) composing an erotic kaleidoscope through time...
> 
> In chapter 3, Jorah wooed Daenerys with poetry by D.H. Lawrence. He strikes back again, this time borrowing from Emily Dickinson, Jim Croce and, yet again, the great Lawrence. The specifics, you will find in the end notes.
> 
> I am indebted to my guarding angels @houseofthebear and @terisrog for the proof-read, the inspiration and the whispering of words.

_ **TIME AFTER TIME** _

Ser Jorah Mormont and Daenerys Targaryen had almost lost their lives in Qarth, caught in the webs of its sorcerers. Entangled in meshes of the afternoon, they had spent days groggily longing for one another, without care for the passage of time. “Why is it so hard to think?” Jorah had sometimes found himself able to mutter, forgetting to keep up his guard the moment Daenerys would smile at him from across the fountain. Time had no meaning in the secret garden of the small palazzo their duplicitous host Xaro Xhoan Daxos had secured for them.

It had taken all his resolve to break free from the dangerous spell of Pyat Pree, in order to save his Queen, but not before falling prey to immodest acts that would have damned him had Daenerys not later admitted she had more than welcomed them. Yes, Jorah and his Khaleesi had won the day in the end, the Dothraki killing their foes and securing Qarth. And they had found each other truly awake, finally, to the love they felt, and which they consummated in the most glorious of dawn above their new City. And yet, if truth be told, though there were no more evil priests and blue-tongued wizards confusing the lovers’ minds, Qarth continued to murmur to their souls and cast its spell upon them, the heady atmosphere of the City intoxicating them. Just enough. Just so.

And therefore it was still at times _deliciously_ very hard to think.

Their dreams, especially, were sometimes impossible to tell from their waken state. Especially to Daenerys, when her Knight, so seldom loquacious, would disarm her with poetry, though they had just been arguing strategy, she was sure of it! But those whispers, in that deep velvet voice of his, his lips next to the shell of her ear: _Let me feast on your brave adventurous flesh, the inward fruit of your sex, Daenerys. Give me your honied rosaceae…_,—his words, when he’d steal her away for a few precious moments, in shaded alcoves, in their stables, in the flowered cloisters of Qarth…

It’s those interstices of time we shall sing about now. For the desert wind rises and swirls in a symphony: it remembers.

**_In shaded alcoves…_ **

Daenerys was being led around the Great Library by the Grand Maester of Qarth, enthusiastically explaining to her, and in minute details, the rarity of his antiquated books and scrolls. If his distinguished guest had been interested three hours ago and was still intent on grasping the gist of it all, these twenty minutes past, Jorah could tell, from his perch, that his Queen was about to give out… or call Drogon to the rescue. Suppressing a smile, the Knight made his way quickly down the smooth steps, his long cape swirling about him until, walking briskly towards the duo, he stopped and bowed, interrupting the lesson.

“Khaleesi…”

Swiftly turning towards the cherished voice, Daenerys almost sighed in relief, threatening in turn to make Jorah lose his made-up expression of utmost seriousness. So much so that he quickly had to let go of his love’s unabashed supplicant gaze to rather concentrate on her elderly companion.

“Grand Maester, please forgive the interruption, an urgent matter requires I deprive you of our Liege.”

“Oh dear, nothing too serious, I hope. Your Grace, shouldn’t I accompany you?” asked the Grand Maester.

_Gods, no._

Whatever words Daenerys found to excuse herself politely she could not remember as she all but fled the premises, almost taking the lead from Jorah regardless of his long strides, out of the hall and into the narrow corridors.

“Jorah, I tried, I really did, and the scrolls _are_ beautiful, and their knowledge even more so, but…”

The Knight stopped in his tracks and, turning to his Queen, took her hand to kiss it quickly, his upturned eyes smiling to her: “But you could not abide the teacher…”

Those words, that knowing look, those smiling lips… they made Daenerys blush. Yet, she was about to retort in kind when a distant rumor interrupted her; that of the Grand Maester, and his followers, appearing at the very end of the corridor.

“Your Grace? You will get lost!” the voice called out, “Let my wards escort you out?” And joining action to his words, the wise man ushered his young apprentices in the direction of his guests.

Turning her gaze back to Jorah, Daenerys had no need to supplicate. With a nod, her Knight squeezed her hand to lead their flight away from the unwanted escort rushing towards them. At the end of the passageway, he had them veer left and then right, surprising Daenerys.

“No, we came from the other direction!”

“Oh, did we?”

That laughter still in his eyes: Jorah was actually enjoying himself! It took years off his frame, not that he ever appeared old to Daenerys, her forever Knight. And he wasn’t anyway, but… but running after him, breathlessly, through ancient corridors, it seemed to the Mother of Dragons that they were regressing through Time and that her hand was held captive by the promising young Lord of Bear Island, his ginger locks twirling in the wind. Where was he taking her?

With a woosh, Daenerys found out! She slipped with her lover inside a narrow, narrow passageway, hidden from view in the shadows of the staircase they were strangely running upwards on, away from the street, away surely from any exit from the Grand Maester’s Library.

It was dark inside, and so very cramped, but still Ser Jorah tugged on her hand until he stopped, to quiet them, as they could hear the shuffle of feet and the concerned inquiries of their followers nearby. Outside. So very near and yet so very far. Both of them out of breath, they looked at each other, the faint glimmer of light barely illuminating their irises. Daenerys opened her mouth to speak but Jorah softly laid the tip of his fingers on her lips, shushing her. His glance slipped to his fingers caressing the peach of her pulpous skin, her lips now quietly kissing his fingers, and then glancing up again, he smiled into Daenerys eyes, making the skin around his own crinkle in the most handsome of ways.

By the Gods! Jorah touched by Joy was a treasure Daenerys never thought she’d know. But how she savored it now. She longed to taste more of it but before she could kiss her Knight in earnest, he was pulling on her hand again.

At the end of the impossibly narrow corridor was a circular room, not vast by any means, but it beckoned, like a secret alcove one only visits in dreams. There were more books here to be found in ceiling-high cases, their luxuriously colored leather glossy in the half-light. Such riches in these rare-looking offerings, some of them laid out on low tables and plush velvet seats wide enough to lounge on, underneath stained-glass windows letting in a faint glimmer.

“How…” One glance from Jorah had Daenerys quiet her tone. “How did you know to bring us here?” she whispered.

And diving very close to her, the Knight whispered back: “Do you think, for one moment, your Grace, that I would let you walk into a palace I had not beforehand surveyed every inch of?”

Jorah knew this room, knew to take her here, away from prying eyes. Her glance falling once again on the plushness of the cushions awaiting them, she could not help a knowing smile curl the corners of her mouth. Taking back some control, she was the one to pull her Knight closer, bringing his tall frame next to her petite form as she reclined on the stone wall behind her: “And where shall we go from here, sweet Ser?”

Oh, indeed, _where_ shall they go from here?

Could we imagine them in a château on the Loire, in Blois, for instance, where Catherine de Medici built a secret staircase to run from her foes, with her lovers, when her poisoned rings were not enough to save her? Shall we imagined them in Montreal, at the turn of the 20th Century, in the very core of the select and all-male Mount Stephen Club, in an Edwardian bedroom a mistress could reach through a secret passageway? Or in-between walls of safe houses in occupied Europe where lovers found refuge to kiss and dally in the face of persecution?

Where _do_ eternal lovers meet when they want to assuage Time itself?

“Jorah…”

“My Queen…”

She was so sure he was about to kiss her lips, but Jorah slipped his hand on the nape of her neck, his fingers lifting the weight of her silky silver tresses before pulling her neck to his lips. Her sigh of abandon reverberated through the whole of him before hardening that which was already stirring in anticipation.

Ah! The alabaster of Daenerys’ neck. Jorah could have so easily left his mark there, but his breath ran over her beating artery until he settled his kiss just underneath her earlobe, which he teased with his tongue and beard, before whispering words he knew would make her come undone:

_"I like to see," she said, and she crouched her down,_

_She sunk into my sight like a settling bird;_

_By her measured breaths: "I like to see," said she,_

_"The snap-dragon put out his tongue at me."_

There was nothing but Jorah’s voice, nothing but the warmth of him engulfing her, and when his words stopped, Daenerys whimpered, famished and forlorn. Yet, she found the strength to open her eyes and groggily whisper her Knight’s name in prayer. And just when she was sure he was at last going to ravish her, he only brushed his lips on hers before raising his hand to direct her glance to the windows.

“Do not be frightened,” he murmured.

Bells rang then, very close to them, so very close indeed, they rang in Daenerys’ bosom and her body instinctively sought refuge next to Jorah’s heart. The sound of the chimes, from the Great Library’s clock tower, in which, she realized now, they had found themselves… by the Gods! It was so deafening, it brought tears to Daenerys’ eyes, rekindling a childhood memory, the type one never really overcomes. But, feeling Jorah’s wide, warm hand slide up the length of her back was enough to dissipate her fear and replace it once more with desire.

And besides… weren’t the two intrinsically linked to begin with?

Turning to her Knight, Daenerys let him pull her closer still, as Time slowed down around them.

“Jorah, you…”

“No, hush, my Queen, it hasn’t even begun…” Jorah’s lips mouthed through the din.

And turning to the stained-glass windows, Jorah’s glance called the light to him. Sunbeams suddenly appeared, filtering through the colored panels while the bells chimed on, but more melodious, transforming the alcove into a chapel of light, golden and iridescent, and stealing Daenerys’ breath away. She quivered in Jorah’s arms, her mouth opening softly in unison with her eyes, not wide enough to take it all in, this unique, magical spectacle. The show of colors, slowly engulfing them…

When she looked at Jorah once more, the light was blessing him with golden specks alighting his hair and the bronze-like complexion the desert sun had gifted him. Daenerys was sure she had never seen anything more beautiful until she saw herself reflected in her lover’s eyes. The way he looked at her. The way… he _looked…_ at her!

There was no more playfulness. In its stead, desire so intense, it burned through him, making him almost tear up as he drowned in this vision of his Queen, a sculpture come alive in the light, a painting his hand could brush with shafts of multihued beams falling on her skin. His fingers slowly making their way to her face, Jorah made the dust caught in the light dance between them. It glittered so, it blinded Daenerys for a second. _He had seen her like this, hadn’t he?_ she thought,_ in his mind’s eye, when he first discovered this room and its secret_. _He had seen himself gaze at her, caught in this harmony of colors and imprisoned in his arms._ Oh, she felt it in her very soul.

When his fingertips reached her cheek, Daenerys closed her eyes and sighed. There was nothing in this world like the touch of her Knight. It made her breath come quicker and when she opened them again, looking up into Jorah’s amorous gaze, she felt… she felt precious. Like a jewel one discovers anew every time the treasure box is opened in secret, and in longing.

Brushing her own hand across Jorah expansive chest, Daenerys slipped it inside his open shirt, to caress the soft fur she was sure to find there, until she rested her open palm on her Knight’s beating heart. He let her press her hand and feel the pounding there, his eyes diving into hers until, at last, he slowly dipped his face to her lips.

Daenerys longed so for Jorah’s kiss but, once more, he wavered, the tip of his fingers slipping along her jawline and onto the swan’s curve of her neck. His breath came quicker too, as he pressed his body to hers, not hiding his desire, and exciting her own. She whimpered when his fingers glided lower still, barely touching her clavicle yet following its ridge until they dipped to her bosom; his words, there, fluttering anew:

_And her bosom couched in the confines of her gown_

_Like Heavy birds at rest there, softly stirred_

_Oh Jorah_, Daenerys almost plaintively whispered, aching for him, one of her hands slipping to his manhood, so impossibly hard already in the constraints of his breaches. A shiver of delight ran through her and again when she felt Jorah move into her caress. He hummed low while his gaze followed his own fingers over her skin, her heaving breath making the folds of her dress part for his touch. He was tracing the emerging swell of her bosom, glowing in the light, like sleeping doves, while his shaft pulsated under her palm. She had to whimper, she couldn’t stay quiet, and it emboldened him to free one of her breasts, caressing its lovely weight and hardening its tip. Jorah wet his lips in anticipation and seeing him contemplate her so made Daenerys arch her back, moaning out loud. His cock twitched then, and her breast billowed under his touch. She wanted him so badly, her quivering breath made flecks of wanderlust dance up from her naked flesh into the swirl of light dividing them. She was not going to survive these caresses, and neither would he as he felt her fingers trace the curve of his crown through his breeches before closing around his girth. She was about to beg when Jorah’s eyes once more held her captive. Aching as much as hers.

“Khaleesi…”

The intimate call. The voice, deep and strong, and yet breaking. He breathed next to her lips. Once. Twice. Waiting. And when Daenerys breathed out, her teeth sinking into the thumb caressing her mouth, Jorah growled, pleading again.

“Khaleesi…”

“Jorah, yes…”

And on that glorious leave, Daenerys’ Knight all at once swooped his head down and swept her body up into his strong embrace, his hand tenderly squeezing the alveoli of her breast to suckle all of it like a man feasting at last on the fruits of the Gods. The play of his tongue and teeth and gruff on her sensitive flesh made Daenerys moan in turn and her whole body tensed, chasing its own Elysium.

Abandoning herself to pleasure, it felt to the Mother of Dragons that the ringing of the bells was freeing the pulse of her secret folds and fueling her Knight’s ardor. She had to moan out loud when a deeper sounding tone underscored Jorah’s unveiling of her shoulders. The warmth of his large hands disrobing her in one swift tug, while his open kisses still feasted on her breasts, and neck, and lips, feverishly… He was burning her!

Jorah was lifting her up, his arms and body pinning Daenerys to the wall, her feet no longer touching the ground, her thighs gripping her Knight’s hips because his caresses showed her the way, and he wanted her there. Rasping words of passion in her ear, he kept surging towards her, lovingly, hungrily, his still constrained cock searching for a way to mate. By the Gods, he was going to consume her! When passion got a hold of Jorah, no Kingdom was safe, least of all that of her heart. And yet, biting into his kisses, and dueling with his tongue, Daenerys managed to push her Knight unto those plush cushions awaiting them from the start.

“Free the beast, for me, Ser Jorah…”

She was hovering over her lover’s seated form, her naked body glowing from the open folds of her dress, her hands caressing her breasts. She was_ waiting_ for him to rip his breaches open. It felt to Jorah then, with each passing second, that the bells struck in his loins, making the blood there pulsate for Her. It ached deliciously, this impossible hardening. And when, finally, he obeyed, gifting her with the sight of his glorious cock, she dived for his flesh. Jorah’s sword, emerging from between leather folds, like a priapic Centaur, was hers for the taking, and she splurged! She took him in, all at once, almost regretting her folly for a few burning seconds as she moaned in dolorous shock. Oh, but did she do it on purpose? Forgetting the breadth of him, forgetting the delicacy of her sex could not contain the whole of him, not like this, not this violently? Surely, she knew; surely, she wanted the sting of it, the flames of it.

“Daenerys? Oh Gods, love…”

Drowning in the concern of Jorah’s upturned gaze, she kissed his lips to reassure him. And as her Knight moaned the guilty pleasure her flesh gave him, she rocked and impaled herself, welcoming the strain made all the more glorious by Jorah’s girth, until she came like lightning. Feeling her throb around him, his eyes feasting, Jorah incoherently begged Daenerys to slow down, the pleasure searing him while his cock kept ramming up into her claiming.

This was very close to a losing battle: the bells were ringing still and Daenerys’ blood, made of fire, was raging. Wanting more. More and more and wanting it all over again. Her eyes fell on the open books lying about them, their pages illuminated with graceful erotic tableaux that made her clench around Jorah and maculate him with more nectar. Oh! What decadent alcove was this? It was alive with the clock tower’s music but their own was also reaching their ears and it fed their mounting pleasure. She was going to make him come… she would swoop down next to his ear and order him to.

But, suddenly, Jorah’s all at once tender and herculean grip thwarted Daenerys’ plan, forcing her to experience pleasure on a different plane. Holding her to him but inciting her to recline into their embrace, her Knight made her feel the steel of his manhood rub the secret place only he had ever known to reach. His gaze held her captive then and, setting his jaw, that Adam’s apple bobbing with contained passion, he became the one setting the pace, his hand once again brushing the colored light over her skin. He couldn’t get enough of those shards of color, illuminating Daenerys’ naked bosoms. Her breasts glowing and bobbing still, hard and heavy with desire, while she threw her head back wantonly: it made him grip her more passionately, more possessively, bringing her to him while his hips buckled up. And those colored rays falling on her abdomen, light beams dancing on the silk of her down and over the muscles there, tensing up, as she greeted the full breadth and length of him. Oh! Daenerys was pleading the Gods, while the crown of his cock kept pushing up from under her skin, visibly, just above her silver curls. How was he ever going to last? But Jorah had too, he had to see the sun run its course over their dalliance, he had to hear his love breathe his name in ecstasy after the last of the bells… And he did, _he did_… when, on the final majestic striking of the hour, Daenerys called out his name, climaxing again and baptizing him anew. He saw it then, his cock throb its own release between her honeyed folds, in perfect unison with the last of the deep resonating chimes, the contraction and seemingly endless discharge of his glistening shaft so pronounced and powerful it prolonged her pleasure in hiccupped affirmations.

When it was all over, when no more sunbeams worked their magic in the alcove, when the air no longer vibrated with the concert of bells, there only remained Jorah and Daenerys heartbeats, echoing each other through their intertwined bodies. The Queen’s arms were wrapped around her Knight’s head, to better kiss his face and play with his locks, and his arms held her close, so as to never let her go. At last, Jorah took Daenerys’ face into his cupped hands, his blue eyes looking at her from beyond Time itself, with such clarity, such certainty, it stole Daenerys’ breath away.

“My love,” she dared whisper in his silence.

“My Queen,” he answered, bringing her lips to his.

_I**n their stables…**_

It was blistering hot in the service yard of Daenerys’ palace, and the sunlight reflecting on the white stone was dazzling her as she turned on herself looking for Jorah. Where was _he_?

The Knight had promised to take his Queen to the oasis he had discovered while making his rounds on the outskirts of Qarth. _There are flowers there more beautiful than those growing in the cloister,_ he had told her, kissing her hand. _More beautiful? Truly?_ she had retorted, a bit miffed. Jorah had laughed then, scolding Daenerys for her misplaced but deliciously inventive jealousy and, taking her in his arms, he had whispered in her ear that the oasis also hid a spring, pristine and cool, in which he longed to see her bathe… Oh, how his blue eyes had twinkled! He had seemed so eager to share this treasure with her, so… where was he? Daenerys had waited for her Knight in their study, had gone back to their bedroom, and searched in vain the armory. He was nowhere to be found and patience was not her strong suit.

Left to herself, in the middle of the courtyard, and squinting up towards the loggias, Daenerys was about to call out Jorah’s name when she heard the whinnying of a horse from inside the stables. Turning towards the open doors, she walked briskly towards them, lifting the hem of her white chiffon dress, so as not to get it dirty, but, once on the threshold, she had to stop, her eyes squinting to adjust to the semi-darkness of the low-ceiling livery.

“Jorah?” she called tentatively.

Not getting any answer and not waiting for one, Daenerys walked in, trying to keep her white moccasins away from suspicious puddles. No small feat. The stables were commanding in size but rugged in looks, with sturdy but roughly carpentered beams running along the ceiling, and simple wooden boxes built to hold the Dothraki horses. The air smelled of their hide and the loose straw covering most of the ground, muddy in places. It was eerily silent too, though many horses could be seen shuffling, the sound of their soft neighing barely stirring the air… Daenerys proceeded further in, strangely aware of the subdued atmosphere, her eyes falling on the shafts of light rhythmically cutting the darkness before her. The more she advanced, the more she felt like she was leaving her world behind.

And that’s when she heard something… _new_. The voice of a man singing, sweet and low, at the very end of the long row of boxes. She could barely make up the words but…

_She bade me follow to her garden, where_

_The mellow sunlight stood as in a cup_

_Between the old grey walls; I did not dare_

_To raise my face, I did not dare look up_

_Lest her bright eyes like sparrows should fly..._

And inside that box was a Knight, a Knight dressed in makeshift slacks and wearing the ripped-beyond-repair golden shirt he had _sworn_ to his Queen he was going to discard. And that Knight was singing to himself while polishing his new saddle. He did this slowly and lovingly, with an oil of his own design, whose fragrance was now reaching Daenerys and intoxicating her as much as the view.

“Jorah?”

Her Knight turned ‘round so swiftly, he startled Daenerys who let out a soft yelp, as Jorah repressed his own surprise, sighing and closing his eyes a second when he recognized the intruder. And then, they spoke all at once.

“Gods! I’m sorry…” “Daenerys, what…”

What a vision she composed, in the semi-darkness she alighted as from within… _and with a downcast mien I followed the swing of her white dress. I watched the poise of her feet that paused to press the grass with the royal burden of her…_ Oh Gods, she was the very incarnation of that verse, and so beautiful with her silver hair raised into a crown, and her dainty hands not daring to touch anything because everything was indeed so very dusty and soiled and… and he should speak now, shouldn’t he? Yet…

“Khaleesi, please, you first…”

“Well,” she started, softly, and blushing too because Jorah was so… so handsome and virile before her, looking once more like the impoverished Knight that had stolen her heart. “What are you doing here, weren’t we supposed to go to the oasis?”

“W-What?”

His expression then! It was him blushing now, looking like a shy, disheveled stable boy. He even shuffled from one foot to the next, _stancing_ hesitantly.

“Wasn’t that tomorrow?” How confused and contrite he seemed! _And adorably so_, thought Daenerys, who found herself unable to suppress a smile when she saw Jorah swipe the sweat from his cheek but leave a mark there, from his brown polish. Clearly, Jorah was so unaccustomed to be found wanting in anything that he just looked… completely lost.

“Khaleesi, please forgive me, I… I was sure…”

Biting her lip, Daenerys simply had to put a stop to all this sweet misery and so she entered the box, gliding towards her Knight. But seeing her come for him, Jorah retreated, his back shortly bumping into the stand holding his saddle.

“My Queen, do be careful, I’m… everything here is… unbecoming…”

“Dirty, you mean. Like your shirt, Jorah Mormont, the one you promised to throw away?” Her knowing smirk made him close his eyes and nod his head. _Oh, he was in for it!_ “Shall I burn it now?” Daenerys added, “Our ‘sons’ could take care of it. It’d make good practice for them.”

“Daenerys, I…”

“Yes?”

She was so very near, all of a sudden, a breath of fresh air in the stilted heat of the box.

“I truly am sorry. Love, let me make it up to you…”

Oh, he was using his _Jorah voice_ on her now… and Daenerys was not going to stop him, but her smile told him she knew exactly what he was attempting. “Let me wash,” he continued, “I won’t take long… and we can go presently.”

“We’ll do nothing of the sort. I’m suddenly very interested in stables, and stable lads.” That made Jorah laugh softly. “So, tell me, sweet Ser,” she asked, peering behind him, “what_ are_ you doing? And, just before, were you singing?! And that wonderful smell, what is it? I know it.”

So many questions! Jorah took a deep breath and, trying not to touch Daenerys for fear of spoiling her pristine beauty, he lifted his hands to show her the vial of burnished-colored oil and the cloth he’d been using before she surprised him.

“Your humble servant is simply taking care of his new acquisition.”

The saddle was indeed gorgeous, made of fine leather inlaid with intricate dragon and bear designs covering its edges and the thick pommel. Daenerys was caressing the glossy surface with the tip of her fingers, smiling at the repeated pattern of formidable beasts, while listening to Jorah’s explanations until, her nostrils flaring, she lowered her face to the leather, enough so to smell its heady perfume again and, in doing so, she closed her eyes for a second.

“But this polish, Jorah, I wonder… Oh!… Is it?” She turned to her Knight, her look slightly amazed. “This scent, it’s the same as that wonderful oil you gifted me for my baths!”

Jorah held his breath and, perhaps, had not been blushing before, because the flush on his face right now: _that_ was blushing.

“Yes, well…” _Oh, this was going to be torture._ Jorah had to start again, his voice straining from the embarrassment, and yet he took one step closer to Daenerys. “I composed this oil, my Queen, the one I gifted you, from the memory of your scent, your intimate scent…”

_Oh_, Daenerys mouthed silently, strangely moved and tingling all over from the revelation. And so, she too, took one step closer to her Knight. “And you used the same composition for your polish? To…?”

“To keep you near me at all times.” And so very, very near him, Daenerys appeared to Jorah, in this perfect instant, to receive the confessing of his fancy… spoken in his deep, melodious voice.

“And did you sing to call me to you?” Daenerys whispered on his lips, lifting herself on tiptoe.

“Always,” he whispered back, his breath on her skin, his mouth so near, she swore she could feel the bristles of his beard tease hers open.

“Ser Jorah,” Daenerys sighed, looking deeply in his eyes, and sliding her hands inside his thorn shirt, “I should like it very much if you would pull me up… to sit me on your saddle.”

The Knight, about to kiss her lips, stopped and retreated, an eyebrow lifting in surprise.

“You shall ruin your dress, my love.”

“My dress won’t touch the hide, my skin will.”

Jorah swallowed hard on those words, emboldening Daenerys to keep exploring his now heaving chest.

“Did you not wish for your saddle to smell of my intimate scent?” she added.

Jorah could only nod his acquiescence slowly, his throat too constricted to utter a word.

“Then, _take me_, and lift me,” she ordered, her caresses slowly receding.

Jorah approached his hands, but he stopped, almost trembling. His fingers were soiled; he could not touch her. _He shouldn’t_. Looking at his stained skin, Jorah then saw his Queen’s porcelain hands come into view to cup his own before pulling them to her, showing him the way to this dance. She laid one hand on her waist and rested the other just underneath her bosom. Jorah let out a deep, shaky breath then, his embrace leaving a territorial mark on the vaporous chiffon. When he raised his eyes again to his Queen, they were full of desire and it made her laugh softly; a beautiful, throaty laugh for which she threw her head back slightly as he pulled on her to kiss her possessively. She loved it so when he let the bear come out and even more when the beast became once more the poet. Breaking for air, Jorah began to hypnotize his Queen with his voice, passionate and low, his words rising in the warm air.

“_She laughed_,” he rasped against Daenerys’ mouth. “_She reached her hand out_, _to the flower. Closing its crimson throat_._ My own throat in her_ _power_…”

_Oh Jorah!_ This is what he was singing about, when she surprised him, this song of desire. It strangled her own throat now, this heady feeling between them, because sensing Jorah so close, his manly scent mixing with the musk and tuberose of his work, could there be anything more glorious?

Swooning, Daenerys had to close her eyes and then she felt herself being lifted unto the saddle, her dress flying about her until her naked thighs hugged the smooth leather. She was heaving too, but Jorah was there for her, one foot on the short ladder. “I’ve got you, love.” How she melted when he called her so…

He smiled at her then, a warm, reassuring smile. A smitten smile too when Daenerys ran her fingernails through his gruff. One hand still cradling her waist, while the other hovered about her, Jorah kissed his Queen lightly, until, their breath wavering, they both watched as his rugged fingers dared brush the tense bodice of her dress. It left a smear across the transparent fabric, darkening more where her nipple was pushing upwards in the hopes a Knight might come kiss it. The transgression of Jorah’s caress was arousing them both and Daenerys found herself unable to stop herself from pressing her mound to the saddle. She was already making it so slick, she could glide subtly on its surface, holding in a moan. Watching her move, his mouth drying up, Jorah was now searching through the fabric of her skirt, disrobing her leg and streaking its skin, until his eyes feasted at last on the spectacle of her thigh tensing next to the polished leather. The saddle was wider than those Daenerys was accustomed to. It forced her to arch her back and open herself in an immodest way that sent a rush of blood through his loins. She looked like she was straddling him.

Biting her lower lip, her violet eyes never leaving the suddenly darker shade of blue of her amorous, heaving Knight, Daenerys felt his hand move up the silk of her leg, and then slip through her silver curls in search of her pearl. When he found it, she had to squeeze the thick pommel of the saddle, not to moan, while Jorah held his breath on the honeyed treasure he found there.

“Oh love, is this all for me?” he rasped, next to her ear.

It was, _oh it was_, and so abundantly so, it bubbled round her Knight’s fingers. Daenerys moaned sweetly then, her mouth parting for Jorah’s tongue. His kiss, as soft and wet as what transpired between her thighs lasted until Jorah took up his poem again, teasingly.

“_She hid her face, she murmured between her lips the low word ’Don’t’_.”

“No, do!”

Jorah smiled at his Queen’s playful reaction, before kissing her again, accelerating the pace of his caress, and rasping further: “_I let the flower fall, but held my hand afloat towards the slips of blossom she fingered…_”

Biting Jorah’s lips, Daenerys did as he suggested, this time, her fingers diving to her mound where she intertwined them in her Knight’s, to make them slip between her folds, pulsating for him. She made him touch her more roughly, knowing it would make him stand on guard, _that _image sending beads of sweat to pearl between her breasts and on her flanks. She knew Jorah was getting dangerously aroused, she could hear it in the rumble escaping his chest. It made her moan, until feeling the first spark of ecstasy, she quieted his hand to not come too quickly.

“_And my fingers all put forth to her,” _Jorah heaved,_ “she did not move, nor I, for my hand like a snake watched hers…_”

Those words, whispered on Daenerys’ cheek, as her Knight nuzzled her, made the fine hair on the nape of her neck rise, and overlaid the lull between her folds. Yet, challenging Jorah’s poem, Daenerys began to rock on the saddle, arching further and guiding her lover’s hand to her core. His fingers slipped deep into the hive, a loud grunt escaping his throat as his thumb worked its magic on her pearl. She had to kiss Jorah again, swallowing his guttural praises, while his covered manhood pressed its bronze-like hardness on her naked, galloping thigh. He was rasping on her lips, his mounting desire fueling her own until, breaking for air, he saw her violet glance turn amethyst, with an expression of such utter abandon, he knew he would never stop serving her. The Queen of his heart was cresting now, because of his touch, and it emboldened him to growl in her ear: “That’s it, love…”

In answer to those words, Daenerys’ sex contracted so, she had to grip the pommel with both hands, marveling at its thickness and ridges, so very reminiscent of her Knight’s sculptural shaft. It excited her, fondling the leather so, being kissed by Jorah and touched so expertly. The harvest of her pleasure was now blessing the seat of his saddle with her true nectar, a sight driving Jorah to whisper more brazen words to his Queen, his voice still feral.

“Oh, you should see yourself, Khaleesi, your opalescence, the milky way, shining on the leather… Give me more, won’t you?”

She almost screamed “yes”!

Jorah had wanted her intimate scent, and she felt herself gifting it to him, creamy white on the glossy tan of the hide.

_If he had been riding with her on that saddle, his cock would be taking her right now, so deeply,_ Jorah kept repeating to himself, his kisses and caresses becoming more feverish until, unable to contain himself any longer, he turned his Love towards him while stepping down the short ladder to finish, with his mouth, what his hand had begun writing in the secret of her. Holding onto the saddle’s extremities, her thighs thrown over Jorah’s strong shoulders, the Queen had to swallow her cries as her lover’s tongue and lips began to feast hungrily. They were the only cool thing in the sweltering heat of the stables, but even their wetness began to catch fire. She had been so near completion before, she was already shaking now, unable to gaze for very long at Jorah’s show of lust, though seeing and hearing her Knight hum his contentment always multiplied her pleasure. She was rocking again, welcoming the pull of Jorah’s strong hands. _Ugh, when he took her this way!_ The horses around them whinnying, Daenerys threw back her head, pleading out loud and relinquishing. Gods!

There was nowhere to go but into his kiss.

And that’s where she died the sweetest of death, calling out her Knight’s name, coming for him, so violently, time stood still while waiting for the flower of her sex to stop quivering. How did Jorah manage this, _every time_? She could never resist him… And, if truth be told, he could never resist _her_.

When Daenerys was able to breathe again, she felt herself slide into Jorah’s arms, her body brushing along the full length of his desire before being swept up, bridal style. He seemed to know her legs would not support her, her limbs too heavy with sedated pleasure. Clinging to Jorah, intoxicated by his sweat, her fingers slipping through his wet curls, Daenerys fought his hungry kiss to sleepily lick the honey from his beard and mouth. It made him growl and whisper her name. She begged him then, her lips on his, for a bed of sweet hay.

“But Daenerys, would you not rather I take you to our chambers?” How deliciously strained with desire Jorah’s voice sounded to her ear.

“No, it’s too far! You’ve barely ruffled me, my love,” she whispered further, in a pout, as Jorah set her tenderly into a cloud of clean hay, as per her command. “My dress is still about me, as is your shirt, the yellow goldie I am actually _so_ happy you never threw away.” That groggy confession made him smile knowingly, as he nonetheless parted with the cherished garment, Daenerys helping him undress. He had to kiss her again, while opening the last of her chiffon veils, taking a moment to marvel at her regal beauty, and she, his glistening body.

“And I could not live with myself if my Knight had to walk out of these stables still looking like one of his stallions,” the Queen concluded, in a hungry moan, upon discovering just how true her words were.

“Daenerys…” the Knight breathed out, sweeping down on her.

** _In the flowered cloisters of Qarth…_ **

It was white and searing; the light blinding her from within. And the musky smell of their mating, rich and sweet, was engulfing Daenerys while Jorah’s heart pounded in her ear—or was it her own blood, rushing there? She was deaf to the World but for her Knight’s low, low rumbling of her name. It made her mewl in his ear, and plead for more, not to stop, and to take her, deeper…. ‘Til the open-mouthed silent shattering, seconds before Jorah had to sink his teeth where her neck met her shoulder blade, to not growl out loud his thunderous release, on the last of his powerful thrusts.

Shaking, panting, not daring to move yet, the lovers slowly came back to their senses. Nothing had changed around them. The soft breeze through the rose bushes, the drops of sunlight on the trees above making the birds sing, the twinkle of the fountain in their hiding place: all conspired to make them doubt this passionate, hungry tryst ever occurred in their secret ivy-covered gazebo. Oh! but they knew, _they_ knew… though their guests, a few feet away, on the other side of the cloistered garden, did not. Nor did they presently see or hear the Queen and her Knight give each other smiling, groggy kisses.

Not letting go of Daenerys, Jorah found his voice.

“My Queen, will you forgive me… I didn’t mean for us to… I only wanted a kiss.”

That made Daenerys smile on Jorah’s lips: “And you did, get the Queen to kiss you, did you not, Ser Jorah?”

Smiling into Jorah’s sweetly contrite gaze, Daenerys sighed in contentment, throwing her head back, and swaying sensuously to feel her Knight’s lingering hardness. She loved it so when his manhood took its time to realize it was satiated.

“Khaleesi, please…”

Daenerys laughed sweetly, making her Knight chuckle too.

“Ser Jorah, I believe you are detaining me still.”

“If only it were true; if only I could,” Jorah answered, kissing her again, but with a renewed vigor that went straight to his loins.

“Jorah!?” Daenerys had to scold, laughing softly.

“I’m sorry… it’s this garden, the cloisters are…”

“The garden? The cloister?’ Daenerys huffed, comically, “… _Not I?_”

“No! I mean yes! It is _you_!…” But Jorah never had to finish his hurried apologies because he was shushed by Daenerys’ true, tender kiss.

“My love, I knew the minute you asked for a private audience, in front of our guests, that we would end up here, in the most secret of all the secluded treasured niches of our garden, and that I would melt in your arms, and soar, asking for more. You _are_ right. Our cloisters are magical and blessed. Our love makes it so.”

She kissed him again, calming his apprehensions. “And I even remember the verse you whispered to me… in all diplomatic urgency.”

_I longed to turn_

_My heart's red measure in her cup,_

_I longed to feel my hot blood burn_

_With the amethyst in her cup_

“And you did, didn’t you, Ser? Feel your _hot… blood… burn_… in the amethyst of my cup?”

“Yesssss….”

Jorah’s answer was guttural and amorous and raw, and it completed the rejuvenescence of his cock, which he couldn’t stop from thrusting again, delighting his Queen.

“Your Grace?” _A voice from afar!_

Whipped out of their trance, though not without a final, shaky sigh, as Jorah left the treasured intimacy of his Love, the Knight helped his Khaleesi compose herself again. Slicking her turquoise vaporous dress, she called out to the Grand Maester looking for her.

“Over here!” she volunteered.

“Oh?” the old, slightly confused but jovial man answered, still not seeing his hosts.

Daenerys had to walk towards him, closely followed by Jorah, in order to make the Maester sigh in relief, and rejoice.

“Oh! Your Grace, there you are! The ambassador to Braavos is here, and I believe he could refinance our Library and _you know_ how much we need… Oh!” the wise learned man interrupted himself, his glance going from Daenerys to Jorah, and back again. “You two!”

_Oh Gods, what? _

“You two are the _perfect_ image of good health! I… It warms my heart! What was I saying?”

Relieved, as much as Daenerys, Jorah volunteered: “Braavos might finance one of your cultural endeavors. Would you like me to speak to the ambassador in private?”

“Oh!… Oh! _Ish!_” fretted the old man, not wanting to insult Jorah but clearly appalled by the suggestion, “Ser Jorah, meaning no offence but… no! I mean, you… Your sword, your scowl, _hou_, no! … Your Grace, please?”

Biting the interior of her cheeks not to laugh, and definitely not turning around to see Jorah’s expression, Daenerys took the Grand Maester’s arm and led the way towards the main party. Though, just before stepping out of the shaded area of the garden, the Queen noticed blood on her finger. Did a thorn prick her? A drop fell on her dress, her pink dress.

But wasn’t her dress turquoise?

Stopping, her hand still on the Grand Maester’s arm, she turned towards Jorah… but saw, in his stead, a tall and regal beauty… from Naarth, surely, given her complexion and stunning headdress.

“Missandei,” she heard herself call her friend, because this smiling beauty was indeed her friend, “Oh no, my dress! On your wedding day!”

“Oh!” Missandei whispered, before hurriedly taking Daenerys by the arm and ushering her towards the fountain. “It’s nothing, My Queen.”

A bit dazed, Daenerys let herself be led, not caring anymore about her small injury but wondering, rather, in which dream she had gotten herself lost. She wasn’t hearing what this ‘Missandei’ was telling her, but she felt at ease with her and… cherished. She looked on, mesmerized, as her friend nursed her finger, dipping her handkerchief in the water to wash the blood away from her skin, and then dab at the dress, all the while reassuring her and chatting away, smiling, soothing her friend. Everything was ready, Daenerys had seen to it, and oh Gods, she was so happy, and she blushed when she went on about Grey, her fiancé.

Daenerys blinked and just smiled, looking at Missandei as if from afar, mesmerized and strangely happy until, looking at her reflection in the water, she noticed she was not herself. Or rather that she was she, but older! Not an old woman, but a woman in her prime, assured and patrician, with laughing lines gracing her eyes. She lifted her head, not understanding everything but, trusting her instinct, she interrupted her friend’s chatter by placing the palm of her hand on her cheek: “We’ve gone through a lot, you and I, haven’t we?”

“Oh, Daenerys, we have…” her friend answered her, a lull halting time between them, while they just gazed at each other, smiling softly. And then, tears prickling Missandei’s eyes, the beauty from Naarth squeezed her Queen’s hand to thank her again. “I never thought, Daenerys, that this day would come and for you to have made it all possible… and having persuaded Ser Jorah to sing for us!”

_Jorah!_ _Oh, thank the Gods!_

_***_

At the other end of the garden, while calmly navigating Grey through the rehearsal of his vows, Jorah was tuning the lute he was to play at the ceremony. Unbeknownst to them, the dashing and romantic figure which Jorah cut, in full regalia, his ear dipping to his instrument, made some guests smile appreciatively, and gossip. And the few intricate chords he struck! Oh, this Captain of the Queen’s Guard was something to behold!

Grey seemed his usual stoic self, but Jorah knew better.

“You will not forget, trust me.”

“I will not forget ‘precious’, but my eyes will see Missandei of Naarth and… the other words will die.”

“Then let them, my friend, and in their place, your heart will rise to the occasion.”

“You speak strangely.”

“Yes, well, this is what happens when you trade the sword for the quail… in peacetime.”

A stirring amongst the guests alerted Jorah that something was afoot.

“The Queen!” announced a young page.

Swiftly, Jorah rose to his feet, like all the men present, but stood taller and proud, his eyes waiting to gaze on his Love.

Guests parted in order to let the Queen through. She walked alone, having left Missandei with her ladies in waiting and though she would have usually smiled and said a few words of greeting to her guests, her eyes were now roving in search of her Knight. Nervously, she patted her elaborate braids and ran her hand over her beautiful gown, worrying about her appearance, worrying about all those years she, somehow, had to appease in herself, before seeing Jorah. But when she did see him…

Grey whispered a question but Jorah wasn’t listening to him anymore. Having set aside his musical instrument, and squaring his shoulders, the Knight only had eyes for the Queen coming towards him.

It made one Lady ask another: “Oh, Ser Mormont _with_ the Queen, really?” To which her friend answered: “Oh my dear, yes, these past twenty years shy of a shadow!” _Really?_ “But the way he looks at her, it feels like…” _Sigh._ “I know, _I know_…”

Yes, their love, as incandescent as ever, was shining for all to see. And never brighter than on Jorah’s proud features.

_There he is_, Daenerys thought, her heart beating out of her chest. _There he stands! Jorah, my love._ Moved beyond words, Daenerys walked towards the luminous apparition of him, so dashing, his golden hair mostly silver now, and still with a gruffy beard, she was sure he kept to please her. It made her smile while, tears threatening to spill from her violet eyes, she breached the gap between them. When he took her hand to kiss it, she knew it looked like _they _were going to be wed.

“My Queen!” he greeted her, his eyes rising from her hand, his words reverberating like velvet thunder.

***

“Daenerys!” he panted, sweeping her off her feet. Jorah was kissing his Love like there was no tomorrow. He didn’t remember closing the heavy door to their bedroom shut with a kick, but he had, and he was now devouring his Khaleesi while she was trying to get him out of his gala attire. He wasn’t helping, he wouldn’t have cared if he had been in full armor, all he wanted was to get her on those silky sheets to worship her.

“I thought they’d never leave.”

“And you only did two encores after Missandei and Grey departed.”

“Well, they all know I’m uncouth.”

“A scowling poet. _My_ scowling poet…”

Kissing, they landed with a woof on the wide expanses of their intimate dominion, a bed Jorah carved himself, years before, when they first began to call Qarth their home. And it had become their Kingdom. Both the bed _and _the City of Qarth.

Having deftly undressed most of his paramour, Jorah was relishing the view, his kisses sensual and heady on his Love’s silky forms until, hearing Daenerys softly sigh his name, he came to gaze down upon her.

“Jorah, I…” She was looking at him, cupping his face in her hands, running her fingers through this new silver gruff and the soft curls still brushing his ears and teasing the nape of his neck… while down below, she could recognize the feel of the beast in waiting. Hard and sumptuous as ever. “I could not be happier than I am right now, right this instant, with you, in our bed.”

Jorah blinked and his brow furrowed slightly in surprise, almost in concern. His Love was so emotional, suddenly. He felt his soul stir.

“Khaleesi…” he whispered before kissing her tenderly, then searched her eyes again, leaning into the caress of her hand on his cheek.

Gods, he was truly her forever Knight, wasn’t he? As handsome as the first time she saw him, but with a gravitas that stole her heart away. His rugged features, the lines on his face telling her of all the years they had had together, to love one another… and the blue of his eyes, shining like never before.

Jorah was smiling now, his hand undoing Daenerys’s tresses to card his fingers through her hair; the love shining forth from his glance telling her of the depth of his own felicity. Then, lowering his lips to his Liege, he kissed her tenderly again, and expertly, until she sighed that sigh he knew so well, the one he craved, night and day. The one presently making him whisper a new verse, his voice the epitome of breathy passion:

_Ample make this bed_

_Make this bed with awe_

_In it wait till Judgment break_

_Excellent and fair_

Tears slipping from the corner of her eyes, Daenerys stroke Jorah’s face again and repeated after him: “Make this bed with awe…” And with those words, she ignited her Knight, who took her lips possessively before travelling down the softness of her, towards paradise, rasping her most cherished title: “Khaleesi…”

***

“Khaleesi, be careful!”

“Ouch!”

Oh! she had pricked herself on her favorite rose bushes.

Taking Daenerys’ hand, and scowling her tenderly with his eyes, Jorah brought her bleeding finger to his mouth, to gently suck on it.

They were in the cloisters again. Yet another day, yet another time. And this time, in the opalescent blue and pink hues of Qarth’s magic hour. It was Daenerys’ favorite time to pic flowers to grace and perfume their chambers.

“Don’t. Don’t say it!” Daenerys scolded, seeing Jorah’s reprimanding glance. He lifted his eyebrows in mock innocence, still sucking on her flesh. “I know what you’re thinking, Jorah.”

“Oh, do you?” True, he really wished she’d let the gardener handle the gardening, but slowing down his sucking, he let innuendo take over, making Daenerys shake her head and laugh. She tugged on her hand to set it free, but Jorah playfully held on, muttering sweetly, her finger in his mouth: “_No, not done yet…”_

Then, slightly more seriously, but not letting go of her hand, he put pressure on her finger to stop the bleeding. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. You have seen the raven’s message?”

“Indeed, I have,” he answered, more somber now, “the Slavers’ Cities will not relinquish… and they challenge you. We don’t need all of our fleet, just a few ships will do, and we are almost ready, Khaleesi.”

Daenerys nodded slowly, apprehension veiling her features.

“We are building this fleet for Westeros, are we not, Ser Jorah?”

“But you swore you would free Meereen and Slavers Bay.”

“And I shall, you know I will! But…”

Taking a deep breath, she looked around, at the luminous beauty of their cloisters. Following her gaze, Jorah almost winced, feeling his Love’s painful nascent nostalgia for a place she had not yet left behind. But it would come to this. Of course, they would be back soon enough from the rebel cities of Essos but they were bound for Westeros and they would need to leave this Eden behind.

“I…” Emotion was constricting Daenerys’ throat. She had to clear it before finding the semblance of her normal voice again. “I am looking forward to seeing it, our fleet, and you showing me our galleon.”

“It has black sails, made of silk, Khaleesi,” Jorah said, his voice soft, his eyes never leaving her face, concerned about every conflicting and fleeting emotion there, “with our three-headed dragon emblem, Targaryen red. It’ll make you proud… my love.”

“Oh! Jorah!” Daenerys let out, almost gasping, and finding refuge in her Knight’s arms. She closed her eyes, feeling his strong arm about her and one of his hand cupping the side of her face, to keep it close to his heart. It beat for her, and it soothed her. And yet, she murmured: “I don’t know that I can do this…”

But then, lifting her chin with his finger, Jorah spoke with a voice so self-assured, she felt his strength become hers: “You can achieve anything, Daenerys, and you shall. You _will _free Essos and you _will_ sit on the Iron Throne, now empty and soulless without you to give it true and just meaning! You _will_ become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, if this is what you truly desire…”

Looking up at Jorah and drowning in his gaze, almost purple in the twilight, Daenerys smiled and whispered: “And what of your Heart, sweet Ser? Shall I be its Liege forever?”

“You know you will.”

“And we’ll always have Qarth?”

“Yes, my love. It’ll be _here_,” he breathed, touching her forehead lightly with his finger before gently kissing her eyelids shut. “And here,” he added, his finger slipping inside her revealing corsage, his caress tickling a smile out of her. “And _here_…” he concluded, his voice dropping so low it broke on the softness of Daenerys’ pliant forms as he crushed her to his stirring manhood.

Wrapping her arms around Jorah’s neck, Daenerys kissed him back hungrily, and whimpered in surprise when he lifted her from the ground, still kissing her. He was so tall, and she loved forgetting how much.

“Daenerys…?” _Oh_, she knew that sweetly imploring and inquisitive tone.

“Bring us to the fountain…” she susurrated.

“The fountain?” Jorah was panting on her lips, already dizzy with desire, but somehow his brain knew the fountain was quite possibly the least sheltered corner of their secret garden. _What if… What if someone… Oh! Seven Hells, the fountain it would be! _

When they got there, the magic hour having reached its zenith, the opalescent light seemed to emanate from the objects and nature surrounding them: the white roses, the white marble of the fountain and its greenish-blue waters scintillating. They had never seen the core of their cloisters look so magical. It awed them so, it somehow calmed Jorah’s ardor and he turned an intimidated glance to his Queen that only made her smile sweetly. Slipping from his embrace, she tugged on his hand and made him sit on the large circular bench of the marble fountain, whispering for him to close his eyes and wait one moment.

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

Obeying, though peeping in the direction she disappeared, Jorah didn’t have to wait long before he heard her come back.

“You can open your eyes now, Ser Jorah.”

The Knight was accustomed to his Queen’s flights of fancy and knowing the wealth of her erotic imagination… well, his Adam’s apple bobbed painfully before he opened his eyes. Daenerys was standing before him, beautiful as ever… but holding a lute, in outstretched arms.

“Happy Namesake Day, my love!”

Stumped, Jorah took a second before blurting out: “Daenerys, you should not have…”

“Well, how else am I going to get you to serenade me in our secret garden, Ser Jorah? And later, when the cold evenings of Westeros keep us inside?”

Having surmounted his surprise and gazing with deference at Daenerys’ offering, Jorah was now marveling at the beauty of the cord instrument in his hands, its precious wood and silky threads. Yet, he objected again but, this time, more distractedly: “You know I don’t sing.”

“Oh! But you _do_ sing! You sing when you think I am not there to overhear your poems.” She glided close to her Knight, sitting next to him, and putting her hand on his arm while he was already fitting the instrument to his body. “Remember that time in the stables?”

He lifted his gaze then and, smiling, came to kiss his Queen’s lips in acquiescence: “Mmmmm… Though, of course, there are more than one stable memories,” he added playfully, kissing her again. Then, plucking the cords tentatively, he made the instrument vibrate the most exquisite musical notes, surprising both himself and Daenerys.

“Oh! Don’t stop…” Daenerys enjoined him, her eyes and smile twinkling.

Jorah started again, a simple chord, but again the instrument vibrated beautifully and over it, his voice, his perfect velvet voice:

_If I could save time in a bottle…_

He looked up at Daenerys, already entranced and, encouraged by the love he saw there, the singing Knight started again, following his inspiration.

_…The first thing that I’d like to do_

_Is to save_

_Every day_

_‘till eternity passes away_

_Just to spend them with you_

“Oh Jorah…” Daenerys whispered, moved and in awe. And then something magical occurred, the desert wind took up Jorah’s melody, it seemed to her ears, to amplify it, like in a symphony. She looked up towards the sky, at the branches swaying most gracefully over their heads! It never became that windy in Qarth, _so what was happ--_?… Turning her glance to Jorah again, she blinked. He was still next to her, but he had his silver locks and he was singing to a few guests surrounding them at the fountain. Missandei was there, with Grey, and sitting in front of them, on the grass, a little boy with fine ebony features, slipping a flower in the long flowing silver mane of a delicate little girl. Daenerys’ heart fluttered and then her soul and her eyes were drawn back to Jorah. His fingers were making more intricate music, but the song was the same as before.

Turning once more towards his Queen, Jorah’s blue eyes crinkled, and his mouth curved in a soft smile, before offering her his next verse.

_If I had a box_

_Just for wishes  
And dreams_

_That had never come true  
The box_

_Would be empty  
Except for the memory  
Of how_

_They were answered by you_

_***_

“Daenerys! Darling, speak to me…”

Daenerys opened her eyes, her vision blurry for a moment then focusing on Jorah’s face over hers, his worried expression jarring her fully awake. She tried to sit up but felt dizzy again and her hand flew to Jorah’s strong arm, pulling her up to cradle her. They were still in the garden, next to the fountain and she saw Jorah’s musical instrument next to them, discarded on the grass.

“W-What happened?”

“You fainted, my love. I think my singing was to blame…” he offered, smiling sweetly as he saw she was going to be alright, the bloom returning to her cheeks.

“Jorah don’t be silly, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Where is Missandei?”

“Who?”

Sitting up with Jorah’s help, Daenerys blinked, and her hand came to caress her Knight’s gruff, his _ginger_ gruff… _When_ was she? And then, that question ceased to make sense to her, as she felt the memory that would explain it slip from her mind.

“What?” she finally answered Jorah.

“Right, that’s it, up we go. I’m bringing you to bed and I’m calling for the Grand Maester.”

“Noooo, no please, my love. I’m fine. Just… I mean, I like the _first _part of your plan.”

Jorah looked at his Queen, a sweetly reproachful smirk brightening his features. If she could tease him, she was definitely alright. But he wasn’t going to take any chances and planned to watch her sleep through the night, he told himself as he lifted her in his arms.

“Don’t forget my gift!” she added hurriedly.

“_You_ are my gift.”

It was Daenerys’ turn to smirk knowingly, but she kissed Jorah after he dipped her low enough for her hand to grab the lute from the ground. She held it to her bosom and laid her head in the nook of Jorah’s shoulder, closing her eyes, while he walked them both out of the garden.

On the staircase to their loggia, Daenerys opened her eyes again and thought she saw herself and Jorah as shimmering figures ensconced in the secret gazebo, like little porcelain figures in a glass bauble. The cloister was where they belonged, she knew, like eternal lovers. They were naked and glowing in the moonlight, in her vision, and she smiled seeing her upturned face transfigured by bliss and ecstasy. All she could see of Jorah were his taut back muscles, rippling, as he embraced her lovingly, the cheeks of his loins contracting beautifully with every slow, sensual thrust. It made her swoon and she had to crane her neck to keep seeing him, seeing them, from her position in Jorah’s arms as he veered on the staircase. When she was able to feast her eyes again, she whimpered feeling the embrace in her own body, until, suddenly, she was there, in Jorah’s arms gazing up into the blue of his eyes!

“Khaleesi…”

How perfect he seemed to her, like a fallen God experiencing pleasure for the first time, his breathing deep and shaky, his pleading eyes, almost suffering with every thrust, and that wonderful rumbling of her name between kisses. On her lips, her neck, her breasts, making her close down around him, making her deliriously slick. He was feasting on her, while possessing her, his fingers also teasing her pearl. Feeling his strength, his glorious devotion and abandon, she had to touch him. His strong chest, glistening, her lips grazing the soft golden fur there, her tongue picking up salty, musky drops. It made him rasp her name again, but never more feral in tone than when her fingers lightly landed on the warm, silky skin of his shaft, copiously covered in honey, as he claimed her. And made her crest. She had to… she had to close her hand ‘round his cock, to feel its warmth and relish its girth. And when she did, Jorah quivered like a thoroughbred, from head to toe, a lustful growl escaping his throat, and again when her fingers caressed the vein pulsating all along his length. She wanted to remember him like this, always. Her own beautiful beast, her bear, her knight, her one and _only_ Knight.

“Jorah?” she moaned, releasing him but bringing her honeyed fingers to his lips.

“I’m here, I’m right here, my precious darling,” he panted, licking and sucking her essence hungrily, while also slowing down his claiming to better contemplate her face. Yet, he never let her go, his arm around her waist now bringing her to him, rhythmically.

“You won’t stop, will you?”

Jorah could have sweetly teased her then, had he not understood she meant much more than the cresting of her pleasure.

“Never!”

Looking up at him, Daenerys felt _seen_, for the first time in her life, and… loved, Jorah’s carnal possession a clear invitation to soar alongside his heart.

“I don’t want to go without you…”

“I’m right here, I’m right behind you, let go, my love.”

“Then take me, take me, _take me_…” she chanted, huskily, holding on to Jorah, as he was lifting her now, her voice breaking on the fervor of his own, her lungs incapable of catching her breath. She hiccupped moans of pleasure, when she felt Jorah reach the very depths of her; her pearl slippery with honey and kissed long and hard with every thrust.

“Oh! Khaleesi, come now for me…”

And she did. She did, her fingers slipping through his ginger curls to tug on them. She did with her fingernails grazing his silver gruff. His ginger gruff. His silver locks. She did, in a temporal twister making her moan his name under the sun, under the moon, in sudden rainfalls amidst their rose bushes, and in the plushness of their bed… from where Jorah was now gazing at her, amazed and amorous, cupping her face: a goddess ensconced in cloudy pillows of pink silk. He was waiting for his heaving chest to let him breathe long enough to speak. And so was she. But Jorah found his voice first.

“My Queen, ohhhhhh _what _was that?”

“That was us, my love, that was simply _us_. Right here, right now. For all eternity.”

***

_In the immediate present, everything is in a state of flux,_ Jorah would come to write, one day.

_A rose is perfect when it is a running flame._

_Like you, my love._

_When the stream of time bubbles up,_

_Out of the wells of futurity,_

_While flowing on _

_to the oceans of the past,_

_I shall catch the instant-moment,_

_The ever-present,_

_And you, my love,_

_Shall know no finality._

*************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the very last poem I attribute to Jorah are musings by me, on the works of D.H. Lawrence, the other poetry he recites and sings are indeed from this amazing writer with a nod to Emily Dickinson and a song by Jim Croce. Here are the actual works, which I've edited to fit in my storytelling.
> 
> AMPLE MAKE THIS BED, by Emily Dickinson: https://genius.com/Emily-dickinson-ample-make-this-bed-annotated
> 
> TIME IN A BOTTLE, by Jim Croce: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AnWWj6xOleY
> 
> and the very aptly-titled (for Daenerys), SNAP-DRAGON by D.H. Lawrence: https://www.bartleby.com/127/54.html


	5. Night & Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in Meereen, Jorah confronts Daenerys whom he thinks has bedded Daario Naharis in order to secure their army; a cathartic moment of truth which brings him back to happier times spent with his Khaleesi in a secret oasis near Qarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though this new chapter is much more angsty than usual, you know that I would never leave our loveys suffering... It's against my religion. Yet I do believe that drama ups the ante in things of the heart, and is often a staple of passion. Jorah and Daenerys were bound to thread these waters one day, even if UNDER QARTH'S SHELTERING SKY offers them a privileged bubble in which to love each other. And indeed, it might not be a coincidence if drama erupts when they leave their hedonistic sanctuary...
> 
> I've added a new tag for this chapter; I'll let you discover which ;-) And was inspired by two famous works; the which and how are described in the end notes.
> 
> My thanks to @terisrog and @throughtheblue for the amazing commentary and proof-read; @chryssadirewolf for providing dreamy visuals.
> 
> I dedicate this tale to @houseofthebear without whom I would never, ever, had had the courage to write at all.

**NIGHT & DAY**

Daenerys was walking so swiftly through the corridors of her palatial pyramid in Meereen, it felt like she was running. She could hear Jorah’s footsteps behind her; in them, she could hear his heart beating in anger. When they both crossed the threshold of the war room, the Knight slammed the door behind him, and did not wait for his Queen to swing back towards him before launching his attack.

“Is this what you came to do in Meereen? Play at politics? Play _games_ with these sycophants and slaver Lords and…” Jorah winced before rasping the rest, “…and _bed_ barbarians?”

Jorah never saw the slap coming and though it should have chastised him, it did nothing of the sort. His hand cupping his burning cheek, he turned once more to Daenerys with embers in his eyes. Straightening before her, he saw her shake with indignation but forced himself to remain cold.

“Is that what you think?” Daenerys’ voice reverberated through the air, the words clawing at her Knight… and still Jorah found himself incapable of standing down. His anger was blinding him.

Looking at Jorah, and knowing very well he was hurting for naught, Daenerys could have shouted _I did nothing of the sort_; _I did not bed Daario, _and put a stop to this nightmarish misunderstanding between them, but the dragon in her was spewing venom now. She was hurting from his lack of faith and she would take him down with her.

“I am a Queen, Ser Jorah, and as such am a politician, you know that very well! You have counseled me, and guided me, and have taught me… so do not act surprised and shocked if today I stand before you, having learned the lesson to perfection. I have liberated the Unsullied and have unchained Missandei thanks, in no small part, to cunning. I swore to free the Slaver Cities and I have, using _any _and _all _ruses at my disposal when diplomacy failed. And, Ser, I will again! So, rest assured, I will _certainly _bed any foe I see fit.”

This time, it was Daenerys who did not see the furies coming for her. In a rush, she felt her body being pulled and lifted while it collided with Jorah’s mountainous chest as her back slammed into the door they came through. Only her Knight’s embracing arm prevented her from hurting herself. Still, the violence of the impact knocked the wind out of her, and she gasped seeing Jorah’s face ablaze so near to hers, his Adam’s apple bobbing dolorously, his jaw so tense it altered his speech.

“I… have… _sworn_ my life to you.”

His voice, by the Gods! Had Daenerys ever heard her Knight suffer so? And… and appear more heartbreakingly fragile, and strong, and therefore _perfect_ than in this moment? His passion was scaring her and, to her shame, it excited her…

“I have given you my _heart_.”

His voice again, breaking on the word _heart_. And he had given her more than that. She knew this. Jorah had, in fact, given her his very soul, his whole being. _So, tell him,_ Daenerys thought, in agony herself, _put his mind at ease. _She was not cruel, surely she wasn’t, then why keep up this charade? Was it to gauge her power over him? _No __—__no she was not like that._ Was it to feel him _burn her alive_? Because she did let things go very far with Daario. And now guilt was gnawing at her.

Daenerys struggled suddenly, to free herself from her mind if not from Jorah, but he tightened his embrace… and that’s when she felt it. His hardness press up her body; as he lifted her to him, not thinking anymore, so barely in control, his lips so close to hers, and letting a low, low growl rumble from his throat. She could feel his heart beat on her heaving bosom, and she whimpered when she saw his glance unlock from hers to glide upon her breasts, his hand brushing the fabric over them, to cup her tender flesh, famished for her. His animalistic stance was scaring him, she could tell, and empowering him, while leaving her awed and breathless. _You can put a stop to this. With one word. _But she didn’t.

“I _love_ you,” Jorah growled fully, having lifted his eyes once more to Daenerys, as much the Beast as the Knight; with a finality to his tone that made his voice ache. “And you _loved_ me.”

Past tense.

_No, NO! _She screamed internally. _How could he doubt her so? How?_

But Jorah was not reading her mind this time. He was drowning in his agony and, looking at her, so fierce and yet distraught in his arms, still so profoundly linked to him, he had to kiss her, he just had to, _one last time_… and so he did. But as he felt Daenerys’ fingers tug on his curls, and rake his gruff, in an intimate gesture that did not lie, Jorah’s heart pounded for a few seconds towards elation. And pounded some more when his roving hand found itself caressing the treasure he once believed to be solely his. How precious and abundant the honey he found there greeting him. It made him moan into Daenerys’ mouth and unhook his breeches to find his way to her. And find her, his cock did, guided by Daenerys’ own hand. She welcomed him in the secret molten softness of her by her moans, his thrusts lifting her and making them forget everything… until images came at him that he could not cast away and he heard himself say what he should not have.

“There were other ways to get your army, Daenerys.” _Did he take you like this?_ “You shouldn’t have.” _Why did you let him?_ “Oh! Did you not love me too?”

On those words, his Queen bit into his kiss. Lost to her own hurt again, Daenerys had to strike.

“Love! Love?” she almost hissed, “How can you say that to me… if you are to accuse me? It is jealousy that is — eating at your heart, Ser Jorah, not love. Am I your possession, your thing?” Her words, and her body, clamping down on him instead of running away.

“No! No, of course not.” And yet, there he was, crushing her to him once more, the hardness of him still wed to his Queen, and damning him without a shred of doubt. But didn’t she _know _him? Didn’t she know what this meant, this feral dalliance between them? Jorah was trying so desperately to reach Daenerys, his thrust slow and amorous, regardless of the situation, his lips brushing her own, breathing there and aching, but she was refusing to read him, though she had always read him like an open book.

“Daenerys… Daenerys!” Jorah was pleading through his open kisses on his Love’s throat and the shell of her ear, “How could you let him…” Something like a sob caught in his throat and he wavered but his Queen did not relent, spurring him on, deep and hard, feeling vengeful, as they made the door behind her shake with every thrust and counter-thrust. She would burn him with her words.

“Let him what? _Touch me_? Let Daario feast on my naked breast and kiss me and make me sigh and take his pleasure from…”

“_STOP!!!!_”

Thunder seized Jorah and then quieted them both, the door behind them ceasing to creak. His voice was but a whisper when he found his tongue again, panting, eyes closed: “Please, please, my Love… I meant, I meant to say…” Opening his eyes again, Jorah lifted his forehead from Daenerys’, and he finally found the words.

“Let no one touch you that does not cherish you.”

And then, breathing out his most poignant _Khaleesi_, Jorah caressed his Queen’s cheek, his embrace becoming tender, once again, until he added those words she did not expect and yet should have.

“_It need not be me._”

His eyes, such infinite love shining there.

“Do you understand?” he added, never leaving her folds, but to better protect her... “It need not be me laying with you and knowing you thus_._ But, Daenerys, _they should love you_, and Daario does not.”

Those words; adoration and selflessness incarnate. Hearing them, Daenerys shook in Jorah’s arms, and a sob cascaded along her rushed answer.

“I didn’t let him! I didn’t let him, Jorah. There’s only you. There will _always _be only you!”

“W-what?…”

And finding the right words herself, Daenerys explained to her Knight the pact she struck with the proud Daario. He would secure the peace in Meereen, even after their departure, providing his men believed he made her his mistress, his prize.

“Which, in reality, _never_ happened, my Love, and never will.”

She kissed him fiercely, to shush any questions he might have while adding, moving on him, and out of breath: “Now come, Ser Jorah, let us finish what we have begun.”

Kissing Daenerys back passionately, his mind latching only onto Daenerys’ heartfelt reassurance, Jorah did not waste any time abiding Daenerys’ command. Still holding her up and intertwined to him, he walked a short way into the war room before swooping her down amongst the scrolls and chess pieces of the conference table. Kissing her and thrusting hungrily, he made his Queen moan in his mouth until, breaking for air, he raised himself to tear his shirt away. Entranced, he then watched Daenerys’ graceful hands open the vaporous folds of her dress, the transparent fabric and her loose braids drawing whimsical arabesques from her heaving body across the maps.

“Daenerys…” he started to say, his voice deepened by desire. But the words he meant to say died on his lips when he saw his Love cast the last of her veils from her opalescent beauty. Gods! She looked like a proud dragonfly spreading her wings, and it stole his breath away. _Was he truly the one? Would she gift him thus, and only him, for all times?_

Jorah’s thoughts conflicted once more, he could only swallow hard, his nostrils flaring, awakening the bear. His hips snapped before he could stop himself, the rawness of his embrace making Daenerys arch her back, her body responding spontaneously to his unabashed desire. In turn, the wantonness of her gesture made Jorah’s cock twitch violently within her and he seized her hips to bring her to him. It made his Queen gasp deliciously and, seeing her Knight like this, resplendent over her, with her core lifted to embrace his, she moaned deep and bade him to come kiss her. As he obeyed, slowly, she grabbed the leather strap cutting his chest diagonally and raised herself to meet him halfway. Holding on to Jorah, with her other hand resting on the maps sprawled about her, she swayed forward to be the one to claim his cock, slowly and deeply, feeling herself coat the whole length of his mighty sword. Gritting his teeth, Jorah let her take him this way, relishing the sensation, and waiting for her to speak again.

“Ser Jorah,” she whispered, her tone regal and her fingers making the leather in her hand squeak with every pass.

“My Queen?” Jorah answered, his voice deepening on the searing pleasure she was causing him.

“In this room, which Daario and his men believe to be the seat of their new power, you, Ser, will make your Queen soar… until her juices and yours flow on their maps. Do you hear me? Make them see who rules here.”

Those brazen words made Jorah swoop down on his Queen, his cock only too hungry to follow her commands. And when his arm lifted one of her thighs, the deliberateness of his gesture signaling how deep and hard he’d take her, the Queen parted her lips in wanton acquiescence… and gasped on the full thickness of him invading her. Jorah kissed his Khaleesi then, while thrusting in, and he rasped his immodest fealty.

“Oh! I will, Your Grace. Make them see — who rules here. But do let me know,” Jorah added, his voice wickedly assertive as he took her, “How many times, will it please you, for me to come, and make _you_ _cream_… _all over_?”

“Jorah!” That was to be the first.

***

“I can’t, I can’t anymore…”

“I know my darling. Shhhh…”

Jorah was tenderly caressing Daenerys’ face and cradling her, but not in the war room anymore; rather, in her chambers, in the bed she never took Daario. It was late into the night and Jorah was applying a softening pomade to his Queen’s tender folds. She had let the dragon spur the bear a few times too many in the war room and the flower of her sex was now suffering from its regal conquests. And yet, and yet, Jorah’s very light ministrations, though not meant to be arousing, unless they were, had nonetheless made her sigh and crest again… And seeing her sway slowly in the moonlight, under his touch, Jorah had not been able to resist. The pomade becoming indiscernible from the honey coating his fingers, he simply had to make sure. Truly, he wanted so for his Queen to feel relief, would not a kiss be more delicate than a touch? And how Daenerys had sighed and sighed when his mouth had simply brushed her secret lips, his beard gently tickling her before his tongue very delicately began to lick the hurt from her flesh. She had been the one to beg groggily for more, in a sweet whimper, while pushing her honeyed lips to his. And he had not been able to deny her.

It was like picking daisies in a field, the way Daenerys could climax under his kisses. In no time at all, Jorah had a full bouquet to press to his heart.

“Jorah, mercy!” Daenerys could still feel the tip of her Knight’s fingers making her pearl pulse for him like a heart beating out of breath.

“Yes Khaleesi, I’m sorry, I’ll be good now.”

That made Daenerys laugh softly, though she was already falling asleep.

“Don’t leave me? Stay the night, will you?”

They had not shared sleeping quarters since leaving Qarth, for diplomatic reasons, and had not made love until tonight but this strategy had been a mistake. They had nearly lost each other, and it left Jorah secretly anxious now that his Queen was safely sleeping in his arms. He spent the rest of the night gazing at her, tenderly coveting her. He was still but for his beating heart, until he dared brush a strand of her hair, silver spun in the moonlight, or pull the silk covers over her flesh to protect her from the night breeze… only to tug on them, a few seconds later, to lay soft kisses on her naked shoulder. She was his to protect as she slept, and he memorized every line, every slope, every grain of skin and every breath she took… as if he hadn’t done so, hundreds of times before, in Qarth.

It felt so far away now, their very own kingdom, their ‘nation of two’…

***

_“Don’t! No! Stop!”_ Daenerys squealed in mock fright, closing her eyes and extending her arms to foolishly try to protect herself from the water spraying her white diaphanous gown. She had been tentatively trying to enter the natural pool of the oasis to join her Knight when Jorah began to lightly tease her. But now the splashing was in earnest, and it made her laugh and curse him. “Noooo! Jorah! It’s so cold!”

And to think it had begun in such a dreamy way. With Jorah, gloriously naked, walking out of the emerald pool towards her. She had bit her bottom lip, and sighed, looking at him; noticing the light shine through the droplets of water dripping over his taut, sun-kissed body, and _through_ the golden fur running in one delicious course, uninterrupted, down his body. From the gruff on his handsome face, to his throat, and then his broad chest unto a teasing line grazing the contour of his belly button, before plunging to his loins, where his golden fur gifted him with a beautiful nest guarding that hungry cock of his. She sighed again. Of course, the fuzz also extended down Jorah’s legs, but they were partly immersed now, the water line tickling the perfection of his tight sac and formidable appendage and, not surprisingly, Daenerys’ eyes stuck mid-drift. It’s where Jorah caught her staring when he was done slicking his wet hair down the nape of his neck. Feeling like a pleasure stud on the slaver’s block, he shook his head, amused, while taking a few more steps towards his Love. His Khaleesi… with only her toes in the water, and her hands daintily holding her dress up, to not get it wet. _Well!_

He was spraying her again, relishing her little squeals. _Oh! she could run away, but she wasn’t, was she?_

“Jorah! It’s so cold, stop!”

“It is not!” Jorah scolded his Queen, grabbing her wrist, and then lifting her into his arms, with a smile so rakish, it made Daenerys squeal again in fright. And _that _made her Knight laugh one of his rare, open, velvety laughs, before walking back into the water, with Daenerys’ body hugging his.

The shock of the cool water laving her desert-warm body made Daenerys gasp comically before being shushed by Jorah’s kiss. Of course, she struggled next to him but, if truth be told, she would not have chosen to be anywhere else but in those strong arms, not even to sit on the Iron Throne. Still, she objected for show.

“My dress! You’ve ruined it.”

“Oh, I don’t think so… It looks exactly as I hoped it would: completely transparent!” And indeed, it was.

“Ah! You’re a cad! Let me go!”

But Jorah did not let Daenerys go, he dipped her again in the emerald waters, nibbling at her neck and looking for her lips but she remained adamant.

“Please, it’s too cold for a dragon. Let me go, I’ll do anything. Jorah, please?” And with a coy smile, she whispered something in his ear, something about _bending the knee_, that just made him pull away and cock his head accusingly. “No?” she asked innocently, “But Ser, I assure you, it would be quite pleasurable. …For me, at any rate. _Ahhhhh!”_ Alas, Daenerys did not get the answer she was hoping for because, the following second, Jorah was fully immersing her.

It took a few kisses and coaxing caresses—Jorah remaining undeterred by his Queen’s pretenses but, in the end, his Khaleesi did relax, becoming quite the undine in his arms, as she let the water thrill her skin. The water, and her forever Knight. The desert sun was twinkling in the blue of Jorah’s eyes, as it softened through the green canopy, making a private Sept of their hiding place, and she knew it surely illuminated hers the same way. They made love just gazing at each other… and, floating there, it seemed they had all the time in the world.

What a glorious idea Jorah had had to suggest escaping to this secret oasis, before they were to leave for Slaver’s Bay, thought Daenerys. And he had thought of everything!

Upon dismounting from her mare, after a short ride west in the Red Waste, Daenerys had pushed her way through thick bushes giving unto… a perfect array of flowers growing in the shadows of tall palm trees gracing a fairy tale pond. It stole her breath away. And when she turned to Jorah, her smile was that of a young bride. Jorah felt his cheeks burn from the joy of seeing her light up discovering his gift. She was the one jewel missing from this oasis. He saw it so distinctly as she glided through the garden, walking in front of him, her delicate hand brushing gracious lilies and wanton damask roses fawning towards the emerald and turquoise waters awaiting them. The wind was making the palm trees sway gently and the nearby cascade sang to them as it gently speared the pink marble rocks of the hill protecting this secret place.

_This was heaven surely,_ Daenerys thought before discovering another gift awaiting her. Jorah had prepared for them a feast: refreshments in colored glass decanters and fruits on plates of vermeil gold, all laid out on silky cloths surrounded by plush cushions. _How had he…?_ But Daenerys left her question hanging when she heard, then saw, her dragons raise their heads from a water cascade farther afield. _Oh!_

Turning again towards her Knight, Daenerys’ amazement made Jorah laugh softly.

“Yes, they were very good boys, and quite helpful,” murmured the Knight, as he slipped his arm ‘round his Queen’s waist, to steal a kiss on the nape of her neck.

“But Ser,” Daenerys protested in jest, “dragons are not mules!”

“Oh! Of course not! But they love their Mother and are quite the romantic beasts when given half the chance.”

As if to concur, Drogon raised his head, and flapped his wings, before letting out a long jet of fire… that burned a flowered bush to a crisp! The vision made Daenerys turn a knowing smirk towards her Knight, and Jorah closed his eyes in mock discouragement. Still, he was undeterred. He wanted their escapade to be the perfect interlude before their waring campaign and, looking at Daenerys gently mocking him, Jorah knew it would be.

*

“Isn’t this delicious, my Love?” Jorah whispered playfully, looking down on Daenerys’ smitten eyes as he made her swirl in the sparkling water.

“Purrrrrrhaps…” Daenerys deigned answer, just before her Knight bit her tenderly and nibbled on her earlobe. Hanging on to him, she was actually enjoying the feeling of their bodies gently swaying in the deep waters, his nakedness next to her shrouded forms, a delectable delay towards ecstasy. _Could they stay here forever?_ she thought.

“My Queen?”

“Mmmm?” Daenerys was letting her fingers trail Jorah’s features, tracing the sharp angle of his cheekbones and the tips of his lips, so soft and inviting inside the burnished gruff showcasing his smile.

“Don’t you think Your Grace might be slightly overdressed right now?” Jorah grumbled in that sexy baritone of his. Drops of sunshine were dotting his skin, and she made a mental note to kiss every one of them before answering him, seemingly distracted: “Oh? You mean for the occasion?”

“Yes. I try to be mindful of your needs, my Liege.”

In actuality, and without bringing attention to himself, Jorah was already tugging on Daenerys’ ribbons and disrobing her, one layer at a time, without giving a second thought to her diaphanous veils gliding away from them, in the midst of the flower petals floating about.

“But you can see everything already, you said so yourself.”

“My Love, seeing is not sampling.”

“Ah!” Daenerys gasped, “s_ampling_?”

“Tasting.”

Daenerys was not impressed.

“Appreciate? Relish – luxuriate – revel,” Jorah enumerated rapidly. “Biting?... Savoring!” he finally exclaimed, quite proud of himself.

Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh, and then gasp and purr when she realized she was suddenly naked, and quite immodestly so, inside her Knight’s naughty embrace. She felt the coolness of her skin brush the warmth of his and she had to close her eyes on the _savoring_ presently on the menu. Hers. By him.

Without quite understanding how it came about, Daenerys found herself ensconced in soft bushels of lilies, her breasts under soft attack by a bearded Knight. He was quite famished for their tasty tips, it turned out, while in the mysterious depths of the water, a forlorn beast was roaming there looking to mate. Stretching her arms over her head, the movement making petals shower over them, Daenerys pouted playfully.

“Are not my breasts too small, Ser?”

“What?!” Jorah exclaimed softly, but quite in earnest, as he lifted his head to peer into his paramour’s violet eyes. “Your breasts are but perfection!” And seeing Daenerys open her mouth to reply, the Knight shushed her by adding flair to his velvet voice: “No! Not a word of protest! I shall defend them. Hear me out!”

_Aggressive_! Jorah roared softly, slipping into character and declaiming very close to her lips: 'My Lady, if I were a bear, given the choice between bounty and honey, I would choose neither, but your _petite_ breasts, I would devour!'

Daenerys laughed covering her bosom with her hands, and she yelped when Jorah took her wrists to disrobe them anew, and kiss them, before switching tones.

_Friendly_, he chirped, ‘Have you noticed how the sun waits, for you to wake, to lick its rays, upon your swell, to rosy sup upon your shape?'

_Oh Jorah!_ Daenerys thought, her smile broadening. She had seen her Knight in high spirits before but so seldomly, that she looked at him in wonder.

_Curious_! Jorah continued, inspiration turning him into a thespian, 'What are these tender doves cooing under my lips? A dream, a gem, a rare species?' _Gracious_: 'How kind you are. You love my kisses so, you have given them a tender nest to rest.' _Considerate_: 'Be careful when you disrobe, that oceans don’t surge, and stars tumble.' _Dramatic_: 'When they sigh… Valyria cries!'

“Jorah! Stop!” Daenerys had to giggle again.

“My love,” Jorah answered, curbing his smile, “have you not noticed how your lovely breasts mold themselves to my hand, perk upon my kisses, welcome the tip of my tongue and blush on my whiskers? I would not trade them for all the gold in Braavos.”

_My Knight_, thought Daenerys, amused and smitten. And then, taunting: “But what of the overflowing generosity of bosoms awaiting you in King’s Landing?” she asked.

Unexpectedly, Jorah blinked. “Oh. Right. I had not thought of those…”

“Jorah!!”

Breaking out of character, the Knight quieted his Queen by smiling into her eyes, his face sweeping down on hers while his calloused fingers began to gently rough her up. It made her breath waver and his manhood ache.

“Kiss me!” Daenerys implored on his mouth. But Jorah paused, before giving in.

“A kiss, my Queen? You mean ‘an oath taken a little closer, a promise more exact’?”

“Yesssss,” she sighed, stealing his lips.

*

_Daenerys was softly panting Jorah’s name,_ her eyes, half-closed, turning to the green and flowered canopy swaying above her. Everything was soft and groggy and luscious and wet… until, suddenly, she had to arch her back and sigh in earnest because, with a contained growl, her Knight had unhooded her pearl to better kiss it.

Jorah had lifted Daenerys’ body unto the tender reeds growing amongst the lilies which dotted the pink marble of their bed. The rock was smoothed by centuries of cascading water and that water was spraying still, cooling and splashing ‘round their hot embrace. The Queen looked like a wanton Goddess to her Knight, with porcelain skin flushing all over from his ministrations, the bronze of his suntanned flesh branding hers, as he held her, like a pirate protects his bounty. Half of his body still in the water, _stancing_ like a merman, Jorah was caressing his Khaleesi’s thighs as they lay over his broad shoulders. They were silky and full, like her intimate lips, and it only made him hungrier for her. She was swaying on his kisses and dancing on his lips, making Jorah growl and escalate their lovemaking. One of his hands travelled across the softness of her skin to knead her nipple into a tight bundle of pleasure. He loved sensing it echo her hardening pearl, as she was pleading for ravishment, his tongue and full mouth not letting her escape him.

Daenerys tasted of musk and tuberose, and the heady scent made him _hard_. He wanted more of her; he wanted her to slick him madly. And he wanted to take her. Jorah so often found himself right here, relishing the taste of his Queen and yet so desperately wanting his cock to claim her. The bear wanted to _rut_ but he would never have admitted to it. Except in the throes of passion, in the secret of Daenerys’ ear, just before spearing her. _Gods, how he loved the harsh invasion_, in answer to her prayer, and then to take his time, slowing everything down _to feel _his Queen and make her feel _him_.

It was well known that men from Bear Island had the strength of ten Mainlanders and Jorah’s erotic stamina knew no bound when it came to worship his Khaleesi. Daenerys only had to invoke his name to see Jorah give of himself, forever edging but never coming, to prolong their lovemaking. It was a simple fact that his pride swelled when his Queen begged for him, breathlessly. Her Knight became a sword of velvet on which to impale herself, a Centaur nesting deep in the small of her back, a…

*

“A bronze scepter to hold in my hand and treat my famished mouth, Ser Jorah.” 

_Gods, had he heard correctly?_ Jorah almost choked on his food upon Daenerys’ words. They were sitting in their half tent, after their cascade dalliance, having restored their strength by feasting on the lovely spread he had prepared for them but, clearly, Daenerys was ready for something _different_. 

“Daenerys…” Jorah began to softly object, his demeanor suddenly bashful.

Oh! it was always the ‘tender war’ between them when it came to his Queen wishing to pleasure herself by pleasuring her Knight in this most intimate of ways.

“Is this oasis not a gift, this escapade not a wish, laid at my feet?” Daenerys asked Jorah, while moving in on him slowly like a stealth silver panther. She smiled seeing her Knight set down his cup of wine and tense up upon her hungry approach.

“My Queen, would you like to see more of the garden…”

Oh! She simply _adored_ the subtly panicked look Jorah got when she set her goals on him, in this fashion.

Her Knight hadn’t really taken the time to fully dress again after their lovely tryst in the water and Daenerys knew her Golden Knight would easily be hers for the taking. He started to rise from his reclining position but, sliding over, Daenerys settled on her knees to tower over him, her naked breasts perking up, and her silver curls shining from between her open pareo. She bent down as if to kiss his lips but when he parted his mouth for her, she _licked _him, surprising him. It was very wicked of her and Jorah’s breath came more quickly foreseeing the sweet torture to come. Smiling on her Knight’s discomfiture, Daenerys retreated, and very gently laid the fingers of her hand on his heart to push him back on the plush cushions. And, as he obeyed, while whispering her name in a futile plea, Daenerys let her hand glide down his flushed skin, and through his fur, until it reached the linen he had wrapped around his hips to (try to) hide his modesty. The Queen could see her Knight was already fully erect under his makeshift kilt, his body betraying him, and he blushed when she lifted her violet eyes to him.

“Oh! My Knight… such stirrings. Fear not, I’ll be gentle.”

Jorah opened his mouth to say something, but the words never left his dried throat seeing her bit her lip to let him know that _she knew_. She knew this was torture for him because he lived to serve her and could not fathom letting go to receive pleasure. And yet, his body craved hers, soared because of her and he had experienced uncharted pleasure when abandoning himself to his Queen’s ministrations. Therefore, Daenerys hoped to turn this sweet ordeal into a sweeter game still. She was his Khaleesi and as such she’d make him obey, she’d make him relinquish, she’d free him herself. So, she smiled naughtily as she unwrapped the linen keeping her from her prize, while never breaking eye contact with her Knight. That is, until she did, and then made a sound upon gazing down. The bear was free!

Jorah was so aptly named, his cock a formidable beast deserving of its own Kingdom.

Yet, once more, the Knight attempted to divert his Queen from her conquest, lovingly whispering her name to coax her in his arms. And so, he gasped in surprise when, lifting himself to help Daenerys free him of his kilt, he felt her lips slipping softly over his crown. Oh! How warm and wet her mouth on his flesh! His broad chest heaved feeling her kiss and it shivered when his Khaleesi let him go.

“Daenerys…”

Pulling up to her Knight, the Queen tenderly caressed his face, looking into his lost and pleading eyes.

“Jorah, will you be strong for me, and let me feast on your flesh?”

His answer came not in words but in a shaky exhale while she gazed in admiration at the banquet before her. Jorah was fully naked now, like the first man tumbled to Earth in this secret paradise and he could not hide the glory of his manhood standing at attention, that bronze scepter she had envisioned. She wanted more than just a taste of it, she wanted it to come to her heart’s content.

Inviting her Knight’s hands to grip the nearby ropes holding up their half tent, Daenerys told Jorah he could watch but not touch and then proceeded to tell him what she would do to him, speaking slowly, her melodious voice and her words making his cock thud unabashedly until, very deliberately, she tied her hair in a savant twirl and then bent down. First, as she regally announced, she took her time enjoying the musky scent of his manhood, seductively raising her eyes to her heaving Knight before licking the generous drop of salty opalescence slipping from its head. It was so delectable, Daenerys improvised her next move, her hand coaxing more of this slow nectar out of her Knight, who quivered under her touch.

“Not fair…” he moaned, on a half breath.

“Oh! but _what_ is_,_ in Love and War, sweet Ser, but that which your Liege deems it to be?” Daenerys answered regally.

Her answer only made Jorah moan again, that shaky rumble she loved so much, and seeing one of his hands tighten ‘round its tether, she smiled, satisfied, and bent down again.

Daenerys loved it so when she could elicit gorgeous syrup from her bear before the generous fountaining of his glorious finishes. It felt like his cock’s way to reciprocate the honey he knew so well to harvest from her. She adored seeing the sheer unctuosity of it not only pearl on his tip but slide down the contours of his crown, decadently. Her fingers often delicately twirled in the moistness of it to tease her Love but, this time, she licked it slowly from him. She heard Jorah’s labored breath again and felt his thighs tense up under her breasts, which aroused her, and then she oohed when Jorah’s cock twitched in her hand to let more of that lovely sap onto her lips. She smiled seeing her Knight close his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing, and it only made her hungrier for him.

And so, she splurged, letting Jorah’s thickness slip more fully into her mouth.

_That _earned her a loud moan from her Knight who threw his head back, his buttocks hardening and his hips rolling forward before he could hold back. This was madness! He had orchestrated this escapade to pleasure his Queen, not be pleasured this way. But how could he stop? How could he even retreat? How could he when his beautiful Khaleesi was pulling him to her and greedily caressing his hardness, her mouth the softest torture he’d ever known?

Suffering but getting impossibly aroused, Jorah watched, panting, as Daenerys very expertly made him crest until she stopped suddenly, her absence making him swallow a grunt. He looked on though, mesmerized, as she gracefully discarded her pareo and, his eyes taking the full measure of her naked forms, growled when he saw his Queen move her hand to her folds to pick up a sliver of honey in offer. His nostrils flaring, he latched onto her fingers with relish.

“You see, my bear,” Daenerys whispered, taking back her fingers but swooping down towards Jorah, “licking and sucking has made your dragon slick. I thought you should know.”

Oh! How Jorah’s cock twitched on those words! It got harder in Daenerys’ hand who, smiling prettily, looked down at her caress before pleading with her Knight to let her continue. Which he did, with a moan of guilty surrender, gratified though with the notion that her secret lips were now getting as wet as his cock. He watched, panting, as she began to feast on him again, doing it lusciously, a look of delight illuminating her features, and a lovely hum accompanying her delectation. She was so good at this, the experience was making Jorah plead confusedly for release. But with a twinkle in her eyes, Daenerys went the other route, slowing down her caress, edging him again. Her Knight had to clench his teeth once more, and he pulled so hard on the ropes keeping him from disobeying his Queen that they almost snapped.

Which is the moment Daenerys chose to, once more, take more of him into her mouth.

The shock of the renewed embrace made Jorah curse under his breath and tense his body, a low rumble leaving his chest.

Oh! How the sound of her name through clenched teeth became music to Daenerys’ ears! She was getting drunk on the power she held over Jorah and felt a rush of wetness coat her lips when, squeezing her Knight’s steely cheeks, he understood to roll his hips again and look, as she took him in. Look at her plump lips and tongue work their magic on his velvet shaft and shiny crown. Look at his pulsating cock retreating completely before gently swinging back towards that wet kiss, his tense crown parting those rosy lips. Again, and again. And making him_ so_ hard.

Looking up into Jorah’s transfigured features, Daenerys saw the effect she had on him and it only made her want him more, her back arching, as she sped on, as if calling a phantom lover to her folds. Seeing her, Jorah let go of the tent’s tethers, and almost sprang free to ravish his beautiful torturer, but he stopped himself in extremis, his hands crumpling the cushions next to him in an effort to stay put. But, closing his eyes, he saw himself lunging for Daenerys, and turning her to him to take her hungrily, his body covered in sweat while holding hers, hot to the touch, and so very close to him; his embrace, protective and raw, finding release through the snap of his hips. These thrusts he was enacting now, out of his mind’s eye, but constrained and slow, to spare his Love… and the effort only made his final cresting more erotic. He was praying to Daenerys now, adoringly, and she was answering him, in a sexy moan, accelerating the pace. So expertly, Jorah had to stop watching while accentuating the roll of his hips at her humming bequest. He was going to come inside her kiss if they didn’t stop, his cock getting so impossibly hard between her lips. He was going to, he… 

“Khaleesi, I…”

Not retreating, Daenerys seized his pulsating shaft more firmly and went for the kill, Jorah growling like a beast until he gifted her with his ecstasy: his face, upturned and so beautiful as it suddenly relaxed through the freefall of his climax… before contracting again, in luscious agony, his deep velvet voice grunting on every powerful throb of his shaft.

When it was all over and his heartbeat was his once more, Jorah tried to open his eyes but failed, his body still reeling from the pleasure. He only had the strength to rasp Daenerys’ name and, feeling her come to him, he closed his arms around her, as they tumbled softly onto the cushions.

Jorah kissed Daenerys then, and kissed her some more, in the crook of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, and her lips, tasting himself there, and rasping her name again, like a man holding on to Life itself. It made her laugh softly, her beautiful face flushed from her victory. But Jorah was not laughing when he looked down into her eyes: he was gazing at a Goddess he thought he was not worthy of.

***

He should never _never _have lashed out at his Queen. How could he?

Jorah was still holding Daenerys in the lingering night of Meereen, his thoughts conflicted, his soul getting heavy. _I need you by my side_, she kept reminding him lovingly. But how would he ever be able to serve her, as she deserved, in Westeros, if some inconsequential pup like Daario, in provincial Meereen, had managed to make him waver? _How?_

“Did you not sleep, my love?”

Daenerys’ whisper brought Jorah out of his anguished _reverie_ and turning his gaze to hers, his heart swelled upon seeing his Khaleesi’s amorous eyes shine on him in the light of dawn.

“Daenerys…”

“Oh… I know that tone, Ser Jorah. I will not like what I hear, will I?”

Daenerys was trying to keep her voice light, but she was indeed afraid of what she’d hear, and having made her Knight smile sadly upon her words did nothing to alleviate her fears.

“I… I will never forgive myself for last night.”

“No! Not that…” Daenerys rushed to silence her Knight, pulling his head to hers and lifting her lips to his, to quiet his guilt. If anything, _she_ was to blame. She should have told him of her ploy and her pact with Daario and she hadn’t because… because she was ashamed of her tactics and… and she knew Jorah would never had let her go through with it…. And she _wanted _to go through with it, because it was the only way to secure Meereen! She tried to explain. Her words, hotly whispered on Jorah’s lips, and next to his ear, as she nuzzled him and brushed her cheek on his soft ginger beard.

“Please, my Knight, my love…”

Daenerys was lulling Jorah with her voice and her kisses and the softness of her skin. She was offering herself again, brushing her soft belly on the tautness of his and letting her breast find his hand while hers travelled through his fur. She was barely touching him and yet he felt himself come ablaze once more, relishing those sighs of praise and wonder when her light fingers surveyed the whole length of his hardness which he couldn’t stop thrusting into her caress. Everything that she was chained him to his Queen. Such an arsenal at her disposition if she felt inclined to use it, one day, on someone else than him.

_Oh Gods!_ Jorah had to kiss Daenerys to silence his thoughts. It made his Queen moan in response and, holding her, passionately, he had to ask himself: had she been right? Was it not jealousy stirring in his heart? He couldn’t fathom seeing her use her charms in Westeros. And so, was he not being possessive as he kissed her, right now, coming so dangerously close to ravishing her once more?

“Daenerys, we shouldn’t… I shouldn’t!”

“Why? Why not?...” she susurrated, melting in his arms, and then adding, in her most delicate, playful tone, “I assure you, Ser, the ointment you applied, with kisses no less, worked their magic.”

“But you don’t know what is fueling my desire…” he rasped against her mouth, lifting her thigh to curb her forms to his.

“I don’t care,” she whispered hurriedly, anxious now at the thought of seeing her Knight pull away out of guilt.

“Oh, but you should, my Love,” he answered, his pulsating manhood gliding nonetheless on her folds; his sigh turning into a moan upon discovering how ready she was for him, and willing. He wanted to protest again, but it was she that spoke.

“Please, Jorah, we’ll make no sound, we’ll dally so slowly, the birds won’t even wake.”

Jorah knew what Daenerys was doing, but he could never resist her, and he didn’t want to. _Gods… but he should stop! _And he would. In a second. After digging into the flesh of her rump to crush her to him, he _would_ stop, and he’d tell her of his resolve. He would…

Daenerys could feel the beast in Jorah awaken. She saw it in the blue of his eyes turn midnight dark. She felt it in the velvet of his shaft becoming so warm, and heavy, and so thick with desire, her small hand could not close ‘round it. And yet, she rubbed it to her folds immodestly. It made Jorah’s breath catch, his hands slipping through Daenerys’ long hair, his fist collecting her silky mane to bring her throat to his mouth. She was driving him crazy. She was making him whisper vague obscenities, her thumb smearing the clear, musky sap of his desire over his shiny crown.

“My love,” she breathed on the shell of his ear, “I know you want me. Must I beg?”

The Queen released her grip and closed her eyes, arching her back, her small porcelain breasts lifting to her Knight, as in a sacrifice. Oh, how she quivered when she felt his warm breath on her heart, his beard brushing the swell of her bosom, her nipples rising, hardening, aching for the wetness of his kiss. She started to plead again but, feeling Jorah’s arm glide in the hollow of her back, and her body being lifted to his mouth, her words turned into a gasp. Her Knight feasted on her skin, as she had hoped, but he claimed her too, in one swift thrust, and with a contained roar that spilled onto her breast. He had to ram his Queen hard or else his tongue, bringing the fruit of her nipple to his teeth, would have drawn blood, in one _luscious_ bite.

_Ah! There was the bear!_ Her enamored bear, ravishing her…

Smiling and humming in wanton delight, Daenerys opened her eyes and gazed at her handsome beast, already forlorn for having shown himself too eager. _Oh! My love…_ Letting her body meet Jorah’s, Daenerys set the slow sensual pace she had suggested. It made her tingle all over and Jorah sighed, her name on his lips. He whispered it again in adoration and she had to kiss him, seeing a strange sadness softening his eyes as they dallied, oh so very slowly. But she’d vanquish that too. She would! With her own words of love and her honeyed sheath caressing his length like her mouth had done in their oasis.

Daenerys smiled amorously when her swaying and the tightness of her made Jorah close his eyes for a second, to keep ecstasy at bay. Her kisses drank his shaky breath, until hers shook too, their soft embrace perfectly in synch.

Jorah could tell he was making Daenerys happy. He saw it in her eyes, and from the sweetness of her sighs, and so he waited and waited, through the pleasure searing him, until he could delay it no more… the whispering of those words he had to say.

“Daenerys, you were right… I was jealous. I was _jealous_…”

“Shhhh, my love...”

“And I won’t be able to let you go, if I must on day…”

“You won’t!”

“_When_ I must, in Westeros. Because I will, don’t you see?”

_How could she hear this,_ Daenerys thought, while feeling him so deeply ensconced in her, and taking her so_?_

“You will need to strike alliances…”

Tears were forming in Daenerys eyes and no pleading with them, no caress, no light kiss upon her Knight’s face, no gift of unctuous honey on his amorous flesh was shushing him, and her heart was breaking.

“You will have to marry,” Jorah continued while kissing her throat… “You will _want_ to! And I won’t know how to stand by your side.”

“Jorah!”

“You’ll have Ser Barristan. You won’t need me…”

“Jorah!”

“Daenerys…” His embrace was so protective now, his expression so intense, his eyes so devoted looking into hers as he nestled himself still more deeply, brushing in the very secret of her, making her crest without her permission. And waiting for the first flutter of pleasure before striking.

“Daenerys… _Tell me to go.”_

“No!”

“Please! _Tell me to leave!”_

“NO!” Daenerys shouted that word, waking the day. But Jorah tightened his embrace around her, lifting her lips and her hips to his, to silence her, and make her listen to his body enrapturing hers. His voice was the one lulling her now, telling her terrible things, words of love she never, ever wanted to hear.

“You must banish me, Daenerys. You must! Please…”

His thrusts, harder now, and desperate.

“Please…”

“Jorah, no…”

“Please Khaleesi…”

“Jorah!” Daenerys whimpered, feeling her body betray her. And then his hand, cupping her head to better whisper into her ear, secretly.

“Love, come for me…”

Daenerys was whimpering now, her mound hungrily meeting her Knight’s thrusts while tears were leaving her eyes. …If only she could silence _his voice_ next to her skin.

“That’s it… Just for me, come now… And tell me to go.”

_One last look at you, one look and then I'll go my way._

_No_… Daenerys was tumbling and falling… and coming for Jorah, as he pleaded… the spasms so powerful, they pushed her Knight to the brink, thrusting into her, unhinged. She understood then that the intensity of her pleasure would enable her to strike back, her voice regal once more.

“Never!” she told him, as she took his lips.

And Jorah climaxed on that very word, all his efforts thwarted, his fingers digging deep into Daenerys’ skin to slam her body to his.

“Never!... Never!... Never!” his Queen repeated, on every throb of Jorah’s release, her eyes locked on his enraptured face. She was repeating the word but kissing his closed eyelids, and smoothing the crests from his forehead, as she pulled him down to her.

“Khaleesi, Khaleesi…” Jorah kept panting in her ear while she hugged him tightly to her, making him dizzy with her own whimpers.

“I will never let you go,” Daenerys whispered in her Knight’s ear, “I will never tell you to leave. You are my home and I am yours. There will be no banishment, Ser, there will be no parting. You will stand by my side, in Westeros, and I will stand by yours. We are joined, my Love, and I will not let you, nor anyone… put us asunder.”

*********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgements to Edmond Rostand who penned the eternal classic CYRANO DE BERGERAC. Through the magic of postmodern manipulation, that amazing play came to inspire me a few seconds of Jorah!Cyrano... as did the musical MARTIN GUERRE, in which Iain Glen was already invoking Ser Jorah in 1996, especially in the song I quote from, "Tell me To Go."
> 
> And for those who know the work of Kurt Vonnegut Jr, you'll have recognized MOTHER NIGHT in the use of the expression ‘nation of two’...


	6. Ample Make This Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Knight loved coming to bed very late, when his Love was already asleep. She’d leave an oil lamp flickering just for him; its single golden light giving their bedroom a soft glow, and their bed, the lure of mirages...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If upon reading this short erotic bonbon, you find yourself smiling at the 'joliesse' of a sentence well spun, know that it is surely because Terisrog, who script-edited it, inspired me the art of crocheting words and stylistic figures! Also, please thank Houseofthebear, guardian of the approval seal I always need. Finally, feel free to lose yourselves in Chryssadirewolf's art. I know I do.

The Knight loved coming to bed very late, when his Love was already asleep. She’d leave an oil lamp flickering just for him; its single golden light giving their bedroom a soft glow, and their bed, the lure of mirages. Stopping for a moment, taking in the beauty of the tableau, he would smile softly and then—retreat. In the adjoining antechamber, he’d wash the grime and sweat from his body, his warrior’s duties shedding from him like scales falling from her dragons. And he would emerge from the bath, naked, renewed, bronze-like. Then, walking stealthily towards his Queen, towards her naked form waiting for him, shimmering and beauteous under silk, it couldn’t be helped: his cock stood as proud as he when he’d stop… on the threshold of her. Oh, how Jorah worshipped the Beauty who loved this Beast.

His chest heaving silently but deeply, Jorah would remain on guard, not quite believing he was truly allowed though those sheer veils falling from the bed’s canopy, and across the wisps of amber incense. Daenerys had chosen him, she had. Here in Qarth, in their garden City, in these cloisters made for love. And yet, he stood there, fearing this was but a dream. But if he waited long enough, as if from across the narrow sea, he’d see her stir in her sleep and whimper, forlorn, her lips moving. Oh! Was she calling to him? His manhood would ache then, and thud on the tautness of his muscled shell, until he simply had to palm his flesh, briefly, the way he would his sword, almost absentmindedly, in a foolish attempt to calm his desire and quiet his heart.

It never worked.

Therefore, it was in full regalia that Jorah would slip next to Daenerys. The softness of her, the intoxicating fragrant dream of her. His arms would easily find their way around her _petite_ form and she’d sigh and snake herself close to him, her back to his fur, the lovely cleft of her rump securing his manhood.

Tonight, she was sleeping still, trusting him in slumber, abandoned and worriless inside the warmth of his embrace. So much so, it seemed a crime of lese-majesty to breathe on her skin, to let his gruff slowly make its way from her shoulder blade to her gracile neck, so he could lay a kiss there; the same with his palm, chastely holding her stomach at first but opening up so the tip of his fingers could start roaming, ever so softly, across the land of her. He would stop soon, he would. He would join her in sleep, and guard her with his body. Soon. After one more kiss. Behind her ear, and with his nose burying itself in her beautiful silver mane… while his fingers traced the underswell of her breast. Gently, like the breeze.

Jorah knew what he could get away with. He knew Daenerys could sigh in delight and yet not wake; and he did not want to rob his Queen of her well-deserved rest. He just… loved her so. And, besides, those little whimpers sounded so content to his ears. Therefore, he risked another kiss, but open-mouthed this time because—well, he found himself needing to sigh, to alleviate that delicious suffering coiling itself in the pit of his stomach. This would still not wake her, the sound and pulse of his longing. But he had to be very, very careful.

He knew, for instance, that he should stay clear of the lovely buds of her breasts. So innocent-looking, small and round like rosy pearls, and yet they were as sensitive as the one he loved to worship most of all, the one hidden in the secret garden he held the key to, the one over which his tongue so often lavished his Queen’s own nectar. He couldn’t think of that. He shouldn’t.

Nor should he remember how Daenerys loved to be ravished. “Now feast on me, Jorah!” she would command, arching her back for him to pull on her as he rose from his knees on their bed, his buttocks contracting and his arm pulling her waist to his loins, over his thighs and onto his cock; so swiftly; again and again, while bringing her bosom to his lips for his mouth to devour her breasts. She would let her head fall back, then, as she felt herself being lifted from the bed, and whimper with delectation! How could he resist her, pray tell? How could he, when, night after night after night, she knighted him anew with her kisses, and the love in her eyes? When she anointed him with the ambrosia flowing from her intimate flesh? And when she charged him, and only him, with the sacred duty of letting her know earthly pleasures? Because she was a Goddess, was she not? And yet she wanted to know true abandon in his arms. What a precious, precious gift, this relinquishing of her body and soul. And when she did, give herself to him, oh Gods…

_Her moans_—no. He couldn’t think of _that _either.

If he did, if he did, he knew… he just knew the teeter of restraint would snap and he would need to press himself to the small of her back—possessively and with a growing hunger. And that would simply not do. So, with his lips and gruff very delicately grazing the groove of her neck, he kept his fingers away from the tips he could see rising as his eyes peered over his Queen’s shoulder.

Though, what if…. What if he only ghosted over them? Just _ghosted _over them, surely it wouldn’t—

“Jorah!”

Daenerys’ body jolted in her Knight’s arms, as she breathed his name, low and lascivious, while he almost growled what he had kept silent all along: “Khaleesi!”

And, just like that, their dance began. 

“Khaleesi!” Jorah repeated, on Daenerys’ skin, feverishly, his more pronounced caresses sending shockwaves through her. How she gasped through them, almost out of breath already! But he had her, he held her… his arms jerking her close every time she tensed with pleasure. She would not vanish then. She’d be his to protect while she soared, his to consume, his to love—kissing her nape, carding his fingers through her hair, nipping at her shoulder, nay, biting her, while his hand cajoled her. Oh! She’d be _his!_

Unless he’d be _hers…_

One of Daenerys’ hands reached for Jorah, as her eyes finally fluttered open, her fingers brushing his cheek before finding the curls at the bottom of his neck, her face turning to his, her lips looking to be kissed. And kissed they were, with passion, and rumblings that came from deep inside her lover’s throat. “Khaleesi,” Jorah kept chanting between kisses, his voice so gravely, so amorous, so dolorous… like a man famished, like a man beholding a banquet, like a Knight tasting his Queen for the first time.

The bed began to rock from their bodies heaving towards one another; Daenerys looking for Jorah’s hardness, undulating gracefully to tease it again to her cheeks, and sense it reaching the hollow of her back. How gloriously endowed her Knight was! It felt so good arching from the lightning bolts seizing her while feeling Jorah’s arms press her back to him. Something like a triumphant burst of laughter almost left her throat but turned into a moan when her breast, so hard now, felt Jorah’s open hand lay claim to it, his thumb brushing against her bud, his grip tender yet imperious. It made her thighs part, it made her sex reach back to look for Jorah’s… but it was his free hand she felt come to cradle it, lovingly, tenderly, the fingers opening her up so delicately. How could such a strong man be so sensual?

Yet, the following second, Jorah faltered. His whole body tensed upon discovering the treasure already awaiting him. His breath came in short bursts, close to her ear. Such unctuous lavishness, such slippery arousal! His fingers dipping in honey, a true growl escaped his lips.

“For me, my Queen?”

How could she not smile, turning once more her head to his, to whisper on his lips?

“You know it is.” Her words, purring in time with the swaying of her hips, to make Jorah’s caress disappear in her creamy folds. “And how gentle will you be now, Ser Jorah?”

Oh! She was deliciously wicked! But two could play this game, and joust… Did she not know this? How impudent, how imprudent! How so much like his Queen to taunt and tease him like this.

“Hush, my love,” Jorah whispered back… before taking his fingers covered in nectar to Daenerys’ parted mouth, surprising her with this most immodest touch. He took his time glazing the plumpness of her lips before licking them slowly.

Daenerys jolted again in Jorah’s arms, and moaned, her fingers tugging on his curls, but he kissed her to wrangle in her hunger, his hand slowly snaking its way back down the softness of her. When it reached her sex, it was alive, pulsating, and so offered now, Jorah moaned too, his fingers reprising their sweet torture while he let his hips thrust into his Queen’s curves.

“Jorah, please…”

“_No.”_ His voice. Hoarse and raw. And, so daring. “Not yet, my Liege.”

How could Jorah be so patient, so patient and cruel? Daenerys felt tears of frustration pearl at the corner of her eyes and yet, and yet, how delicious her Knight’s ministrations. She couldn’t stop the first swells of ecstasy from rising under his expert caresses. And she could not hide them from him.

“Oh! my Queen, yes…” And then lower still: “Daenerys… Come to me now—slowly. Slowly, my love…” He was lulling her towards wantonness: “Slowly… Slowly…” more sighs than words, his breath so warm, his command so enticing. She heard him…. And she felt him. Felt those syrupy drops of pleasure oozing from his crown and maculating the dimples over the roundness of her rump. Just that, just feeling that hard wetness, Daenerys almost slipped out of Jorah’s embrace to turn tables on him and take him in her mouth. He would let her, wouldn’t he? He would surrender. And _she_ would be the one to feast!

But then his voice! His deep, luscious, amorous voice. She wanted it too. She wanted to ride it. Ride Jorah’s voice towards pleasure while pressing down on his caress. It felt so good, his touch, his words, in the here and now of their embrace, while her lips, and her tongue, and her mouth, in her mind, were subjugating him. It was—

Jorah did not quiet Daenerys’ cry when she shattered in his arms. He greeted it with awe and pride, and when he felt his Goddess’ fingernails dig into his hip, he knew to come ravish her to ignite their rapture. Pulling back, there was a suspended second of torture, filled with emptiness, filled with loneliness, and then his cock sheathed itself in one swift movement, making them moan in unison… Jorah was home, and he stilled himself, to better feel Daenerys’ folds pulsating all around him. The sensation tore through him, forcing him to exhale deeply, next to her ear.

“My love…”

Daenerys answered with her body, undulating again, to steal more pleasure from Jorah, and in doing so, caressing the length of his sword, pleasured him even more. He could feel her, and he buried his face in her hair to stop himself from pleading aloud: _Take the whole of me, my love, take everything! _Daenerys’ honeyed flesh was calling to him like a siren would a pirate and he felt, he felt like ramming her, hard, to make the dragon in her peak again! To say that his own flesh needed to exult was to say nothing. It needed to geyser forth. He so wanted to let go, now, to feel his cock contract and then—but he needed to know first, he needed to make sure…

“My love…” _Shall I take you like velvet? Like liquid silk? Is this how you want it still? _

_Or can I be like the storm?_

_Those _were the questions he meant to ask, to further what he had set in motion, but words were failing him. Because their embrace felt too good. _She_ felt too good, moving on him, eliciting succulent music from their flesh. Jorah had thought he had won the battle, but his voice was now catching in his throat. “…still slowly?” was the only thing he managed to rasp.

Smiling, Daenerys brushed her cheek to Jorah’s gruff and he sensed her bring her lips closer to his ear to whisper there.

“Yesssss…” she said, all molten lava and regal command. And he _cursed_ himself for having taunted his Love in the first place. He had gambled and lost to his Queen, and so he closed his eyes and breathed hard when he heard the rest of his sentence: “Very… very…. very slowly, my Knight.”

_Please no…_

“And, Ser Jorah?”

_“Yes?”_ He was going to faint.

“Very, very, very… _deep_.”

_Oh, thank the Gods_… There was a growl of relief and Jorah complied, with relish, making his paramour sigh wantonly with him. He felt everything, as did she, every nerve ending in his manhood capitulating to his Queen’s sorcery, and she, moaning silently, open-mouthed on her Knight’s filling the warmth and tightness of her. He was taking her ever so slowly, as she commanded, but invading her, all the way to her core, all the way to her heart. He was everywhere, and hearing her plead for more, and deeper still, he was going to lose his mind.

“Hold me Jorah,” Daenerys exhaled, “while you take me like this, hold me tight. Hold me close!” And he answered “yes,” and she pleaded “don’t let go,” and he growled “never”.

Jorah tightened his embrace as he made her feel the whole length and breadth of him, torturing them both, before thrusting close and closer to her, and closer still, and so, so much deeper.

“I’m here. My darling, I’m here…”

Jorah’s cock was wedding itself to his Queen, wielding itself to her flesh, his body radiating such a formidable heat, Daenerys felt herself come aflame. There were tears again pearling behind her closed eyelids, but they were ones of absolute felicity born of Jorah’s arms closing in, his biceps contracting next to her breasts, and the fingers of his large hands, opening up, to press on her flesh. She couldn’t stop moaning and tugging at his curls and pleading, and with every sound she gifted him, he became harder, he became greedier, and…

And he disobeyed, just as she hoped.

He came at her quicker now—wild, powerful, graceful…

“Jorah please…”

“Khaleesi, forgive me!”

“Don’t!” Daenerys was trying to let him know… “Don’t—stop! My love, don’t stop._” _

Jorah growled in his mind, unleashed by his Queen! His hand closed on her sex to pull her to him just as he thrust in again, unbound and feral.

And the shattering began.

And it stole Jorah’s heart.

“I can feel you, my love.” Oh! Jorah’s breath coming short, his sighs turning into moans, right on her skin, while she soared. “Give me more…” His voice, rasping deep, his chest pounding. “Khaleesi, yes…”

They couldn’t say exactly when they sensed themselves coming back into the material world, these eternal lovers, in their bed, in their chamber, since outside of their embrace, and their whispered pleas and sighs of pleasure, nothing else existed. Nothing but their love, and themselves, stripped of all pretenses, during those glorious extended seconds of bliss. But when they did, emerge, Daenerys was ensconced in Jorah’s arms, completely safe and beloved, and all was as it should be in the World.

It was not without regret that Daenerys freed her folds from her Knight’s lingering hardness, but she wanted to see his eyes now, and wrap her arms around his neck, to smell the musk of him, her nose buried in his fur, and then kiss his lips, delicately, like a drunken butterfly, and to sigh there and drink his contented rumbles.

“Ser Jorah,” she cooed, “you woke the Queen.”

“I did, and shamelessly so,” Jorah answered, his blue eyes smiling into hers, but burning still, like every muscle of his frame, as he pressed her to him, the tautness of his body hugging the softness of hers, his hands roaming dangerously. “I did, Khaleesi,” he whispered on, licking her neck, and breathing hotly while softly slipping her under him. He wasn’t crushing her, he was cocooning her and there was nowhere to go but inside his arms, and feeling safe there, and cherished, with his heart beating on hers. How could she ever want another man, how could she ever want this to end? And, so, she smiled, and she cooed again, when she felt Jorah’s knee push her thighs open most immodestly while he pressed on with his playful confessions.

“I did wake you, guilty of desire.” He was kissing her now, his gruff making her lips swell. And he was so hard again, sliding up between her folds, crushing her pearl and calling more honey to him while her hands flowed down the rippling muscles of his back. How Jorah could rejuvenate to steal her breath away, before she could even find it again, she would never understand! But how could she forget he made love with the strength of ten mainlanders? Was it to fall anew, every… single… time?

“I was guilty of want and burning need,” Jorah continued “I shan’t lie. I did this, my love, with delectation. And for my crime…” He was lifting her thigh now; he was catching her hands in his and sliding them over her head, his fingers intertwining in hers, and she had to close her eyes, her mind imploding: _he was so going to take her again_. “And for my crime…” _Ohhhhh Gods, he was taking her, he was..._ “I await judgment, your Grace. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me to stop…” _Oh Jorah… _

And, just like that, he won the tender war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I need to point out that the title of this chapter comes from the great poet Emily Dickinson whose own 'Ample Make This Bed' is forever imprinted on my soul:
> 
> Ample make this bed.  
Make this bed with awe;  
In it wait till judgment break  
Excellent and fair.
> 
> Be its mattress straight,  
Be its pillow round;  
Let no sunrise' yellow noise  
Interrupt this ground.


End file.
